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DUETS, TRIOS, SONGS, 



AND 



BALLADS, 



PASTORAL, AMATORY, SENTIMENTAL, PATRIOTIC, 
RELIGIOUS. AND MISCELLANEOUS. 



TOGETHER WITH 

METRICAL EPISTLES, 
TALES A3TO RECITATIONS, 

BY SAMUEL WOODWORTH. 



COMPRISING 

MANY LATE PRODUCTIONS 

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED. 



NEW-YORK : 



*-» 



PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR, 

By Elliot Sf Palmer, 20 WilliamrSL \\k < 

* 41 \h * 

1830, 






SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW- YORK, s. 

BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the thirteenth day of November, 

(L. S.) in the fifty-first year of the Independence of the United States of 

America, A. D. 1826, SAMUEL WOOD WORTH, of said 

District, hath deposited in this office the title of a Book, the right whereof 

he claims as Author, in the words following, to wit : 

" Melodies, Duets, Trios, Songs, and Ballads, pastoral, amatory, patriotic, 
religious, and miscellaneous. Together with metrical epistles, talcs and Re- 
citations. By Samuel Woodworth. 

" And thou, sweet Poesy, thou lovliest maid, 

Still first to fly when sensual joys invade : 

Thou source of all my bliss, and all my wo, 

Thou found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.'' 

Goldsmith. 
In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled, "An 
Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing the copies of Maps, 
Charts, and Books, to the Authors and Proprietors, of such copies, during 
the time therein mentioned." — And also to an Act, erltitled, "An Act, sup- 
plementary to an Act, entitled, "An Act for the encouragement of Learn- 
ing, by securing the Copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to the Authors and 
Proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned," and extend- 
ing the benefits thereof to the Arts of designing, engraving, and etching his- 
torical and other prints. ' ' 

JAMES DILL, 

Clerk of the Southern District of JVew- York. 



TO 

GEORGE P. MORRIS, Esq. 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, 
BY HIS FRIEND, 

SAMUEL WOODWORTH. 



MELODIES 



X...PiiSTORj&.:L AND AJML&TORir. 

Music by J. H. Swindells.* 

The moon-beam on the Hudson sleeps, 

While yon enamoured billow 
Delighted to the stranger creeps, 

And makes his breast her pillow. 
The rest, with dark and frowning mien, 

And jealous murmurs, languish, 
While amorous zephyrs pass the scene, 

And sigh with kindred anguish. 

So, when the fair Pastora's smile 

Her favoured Lubin blesses — 
Who steals a kiss, and plays the while 

With her unbraided tresses — 
The shepherds who have wooed in vain, 

In sorrow doom'd to languish, 
Behold the happy envied swain, 

And sigh with jealous anguish. 

* Composed for the Melo-drama of the Widow's Son. 



if 



6 MELODIES. 

<£ome ta mg <£ot 

Air — Croos-keen Lawn. 

I've a peaceful little cot, 
In a charming rural spot, 

Far removed from the town's busy hum, 
Where neither strife nor noise 
Can molest our placid joys, 

O then hither to my cot will you come ? 

To my rural little cot will you come ? 
O haste, my dearest maid, 
And enjoy the fragrant shade, 

To my rural little cot will you come ? 

The honeysuckle there 
With its odour fills the air, 

And the fir lends its fragrant gum, 
While on every verdant spray 
Little songsters carol gay, 

O then hither to my cot will you come ? 

To my rural little cot will you come? 
O haste, my dearest maid, &c. 

Thro* the garden, and the mead 
Where the lambkins play and feed, 

Swells the honey-bee's tuneful hum, 
While the distant lowing kine, 
With the waterfall, combine 

To invite you to my cot— Will you come ? 



PASTORAL. 

To my rural little cot will you come ? 
O haste, my dearest maid, 
And enjoy the fragrant shade, 

To my rural little cot will you come? 

And when the evening's shade 

Is extending o'er the glade, 
And the woodpecker ceases to drum, 

Then the pensive whipperwill, 

From the forest or the hill, 
Still invites you to my cot — Will you come? 
To my rural little cot will you come ? 

O haste, my dearest maid, &c. 

Dearest maiden, linger not, 
Come and share my peaceful lot, 

Far removed from the town's busy hum, 
For if Eden seem'd a wild 
Until lovely woman smiled, 

O how can I be happy till you come ? 

To my rural little cot will you come? 
Then haste, my dearest maid, 
And enjoy the fragrant shade, 

To my rural little cot will you come ?" 



% 



Whate'er the charms of mead or grove, 
In nature's brightest colours drest, 

Of all the flowers that bloom, I love 
The modest primrose best. 



6 MELODIES. 

Music arranged by E. Riley. 

When blushing Aurora first tinges the east, 
Arousing the musical choirs of the wood, 
Inviting the bees to a nectarous feast, 

And the flocks to partake of their dew-sprinkled food, 
As blithe and as gay as the new-wakened day, 
I rise and go tripping with milk-pail away, 
And hark ! the sweet lark, kindly perch' d on the spray, 
Responsively echoes my blithe roundelay. 

The innocent plunder I draw from the kine 
Is richly repaid in the fields where they roam, 

And a second supply they will gladly resign, 
When evening invites, and they lowing come home. 

Then, cheerful and gay as the first smile of day, 

Again will I trip- it with milk-pail away ; 

And hark ! the sweet lark, kindly perch' d on the spray, 

Responsively echoes my blithe roundelay. 



Ye fair, who seek a splendid lot, 
Behold content, a richer prize, 

Within the humblest ploughman's cot, 
That rank and pride despise. 

In palace or cot, whatever your lot, 
The farmer your table supplies. 



PASTORAL. 

Wat ©tliafle «iocfc. 

Music by Davies.* 

The morn awakes, in blushes dress'd, 

The lambs are all at play, 
The blackbird quits his dewy nest, 

And carols on the spray; 
The milkmaid hails the rosy dawn, 

The shepherd seeks his fleecy flock, 
The woods resound to the hunter's horn, 

All roused by the village clock. 
Tick! tick!— tick! tick!— tick! tick! 

All roused by the village clock. 

The milky herd their stores resign, 

And soon regain the mead, 
Where cooling shades and streams combine 

To cheer them while they feed. 
When evening twilight veils the lawn, 

Again the milkmaid trips away, 
While woods resound to the distant horn, 

At the closing hour of day. 
Tick! tick!— tick! tick!— tick! tick! 

At the closing hour of day. 



No more pursue the city's fleeting toys, 
But seek, in rural scenes, for calmer joys. 

* As sung in the pastoral Opera of the Forest Rose. 



10 MELODIES. 

SUorn of J«ag* 

Music arranged by E. Riley. 

Arise, my love — the sun appears 

To gild the infant day, 
His golden beam the landscape cheers, 
And nature smiles amid her tears, 

To greet the morn of May. 

Arise, my love — the lilac blooms, 

The blossom'd peach is gay, 
The mead its flowery vest resumes, 
And freights the zephyr with perfumes, 
To cheer the morn of May. 

O ! then arise — 'tis love invites, 

Together let us stray ; 
Thy form, which every charm unites, 
Shall lend a thousand new delights 

To gild the morn of May. 



Air — Cottage on the moor. 

Let others for grandeur and opulence toil, 
I'd share not their turbulent joys if I could, 

The treasure I seek is affection's sweet smile, 
In a neat little cottage that stands near a wood. 



PASTORAL. 11 

Music by Dairies.* 

Believe me, if there's aught on earth, 

That can each grief disarm, 
Tis the sweet spot which gave me birth, 
When smiling memory paints its worth, 

It is my father's farm. 

For every native rural charm 

Adorns my father's farm. 

Though fancy's flight may mock the blast, 

To seek some distant charm, 
How soon her eyes are homeward cast ! 
She roves awhile, but lights, at last, 

Upon my father's farm. 

For every native rural charm 

Adorns my father's farm. 



And now relieved from day's turmoil, 
Let festive pleasures fill each breast, 

And no intruding sorrows spoil 
The song and mirthful jest. 

For lords of the soil, and fed by our toil, 
American farmers are blest. 

* As sung in the pastoral Opera of the Forest Rose. 



12 MELODIES. 

Wxt Bttcftet. 

Air — The Flower of Dumblane 

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, 

When fond recollection presents them to view ! 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood, 

And every loved spot which my infancy knew ! 
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it, 

The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell, 
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, 

And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well — 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. 

That moss-covered vessel I hail'd as a treasure, 

For often at noon, when return' d from the field, 
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, 

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. 
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, 

And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ; 
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, 

And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well — 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. 

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, 
As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips ! 

Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, 
The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. 



PASTORAL. 13 

And now, far removed from the loved habitation, 
The tear of regret will intrusively swell, 

As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, 
And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well — 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 

The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well ! 



Music by Davies.... Arranged as a Trio.* 

Here, in scenes of sweet seclusion, 
Far from bustling towns, we dwell, 

While around, in rich profusion, 
Autumn's yellow bounties swell. 

There, the loaded fruit-trees, bending, 
Strew with mellow gold the land; 

Here, on high, from vines impending, 
Purple clusters court the hand. 

All the day, to recreate us, 

Strains of music freight the breeze, 
Healthful sports at eve await us, 

What are city joys to these? 

* As song in the pastoral Opera of the Forest Rose. 



14 MELODIES. 

Eiit satetermrton. 

Air — Away with contention. 

'Twas noon, and the reapers reposed on the bank 

Where our rural repast had been spread, 
Beside us meandered the rill where we drank, 

And the green willows waved overhead. 
Lucinda, the queen of our rustical treat, 

With smiles, like the season, auspicious, 
Had rendered the scene and the banquet more sweet, 

But, oh ! the dessert was delicious ! 

A melon, the richest that loaded the vine, 

The kind-hearted damsel had brought, 
Its crimson core teem'd with the sweetest of wine, 

"How much like her kisses!" I thought. 
And I said, as its nectarous juices I quafT'd, 

"How vain are the joys of the vicious ! 
No tropical fruit ever furnish' d a draught 

So innocent, pure, and delicious. 

In the seeds which embellish this red juicy core 

An emblem of life we may view, 
For human enjoyments are thus sprinkled o'er 

With specks of an ebony hue. 
But if we are wise to discard &om the mind 

Every thought and affection that's vicious, 
Like the seed-speckled core of the melon, we'll find 

Each innocent pleasure delicious. 5 * 



PASTORAL. 15 

JEfie (Eattagc %nm. 

Music by Swindells.* 

The cottage lass, the courtly dame, 

The child of toil, and slave of fashion, 
Alike disown the mystic flame, 

Yet feed with sighs the tender passion. 
Each heart, ere age its fervour chills, 

Is doom'd by turns to throb and languish, 
And prove the thousand nameless thrills 

Of bashful love's delicious anguish. 

But infant love attempts in vain 

To fan the flame with gilded pinion, 
And quickly bursts the heavy chain 

That ties him down to wealth's dominion. 
For ah ! that flame but seldom lives 

In breasts with gaudy splendour laden, 
Nor yields them half the joy it gives 

The bashful, blooming, cottage maiden. 



Air — Cottage on the moor. 

The fortune I crave, and I covet no more, 
Is health, ruflBpleasures, apparel, and food, 

The friend that I love, and the girl I adore, 
In a neat little cottage that stands near a wood 

* Composed for the MeJo-drama of the Widow's Son. 



1G MELODIES. 

Smtle of ^ffectfou* 

Music by Davies.* 

Is there a light whose effulgence can dry 
The tear of affliction, and rapture restore ? 

'Tis the bright sunny ray of a love-beaming eye, 
The smile of affection from one I adore. 

I'd sigh not for grandeur, for fame, or for wealth, 
But, thankful for little, would wish for no more, 

If blest with a cottage, with friendship, and health, 
And the smile of affection from one I adore. 



Balm of the f^eart 

When the mild star of evening invites to the bower. 
Where music and mirth are to revel an hour, 
Dismiss gloomy care, and bid sorrow depart, 
For innocent mirth is the balm of the heart, 

Every pleasure is fleeting, and hastens away, 
The fairest blown rose is the first to decay; 
Then taste of its fragrance before it depart, 
For innocent mirth is the balm of the heart. 



Quickly hasten then hither, ye youth and ye fair, 
With eyes beaming pleasure, and hearts void of care; 
Partake of the joys which our revels impart, 
For innocent mirth is the balm of the heart. 

* As sung in the pastoral Opera of the Forest Rose. 



PASTORAL. 17 

UrOre of the Walltg. 

Air — O hie thee hame, Willie. 

The pride of the valley is lovely young Ellen, 

Who dwells in a cottage enshrined by a thicket, 
Contentment and peace are the wealth of her dwelling, 

And truth is the porter that waits at the wicket. 
The zephyr that lingers on violet-down pinion, 

With spring's blushing honours delighted to dally, 
Ne'er breathed on a blossom in Flora's dominion, 

So lovely as Ellen, the pride of the valley. 

She's true to her friend, and she's kind to her mother, 

Nor riches nor honours can tempt her from duty ; 
Content with her station she sighs for no other, 

Tho' fortunes and titles have knelt to her beauty. 
To me her affections and promise are plighted, 

Our ages are equal, our tempers will tally ; 
Oh, moment of rapture ! that sees me united 

To lovely young Ellen, the pride of the valley. 



While flocks and herds in safety feed, 
The shepherd wakes his tuneful reed ; 
Or, leaning on his rustic crook, 
Beneath the shade, beside a brook, 
Carols the lazy hours away, 
Till sylvan echoes catch the lay. 

2* 



18 MELODIES. 

Hauctna ®Hrtl£, 

Music by Davies.* 

Sweet the hour, when, freed from labour, 

Lads and lasses thus convene, 
To the merry pipe and tabour, 

Dancing gaily on the green. 
To the merry pipe and tabour, 

Dancing gaily, &c. 

Nymphs, with all their native graces, 
Swains with every charm to win, 

Sprightly steps, and smiling faces, 
Tell of happy hearts within. 

Sweet the hour, when, freed from labour, &c 

Blest with plenty, here the farmer 

Toils for those he loves alone, 
While some pretty smiling charmer, 

Like the land, is all his own. 
Sweet the hour, when, freed from labour, &c» 

Though a tear for prospects blighted, 

May, at times, unbidden flow, 
Yet the heart will bound delighted, 

Where such kindred bosoms glow* 
Sweet the hour, when, freed from labour, &c. 

* Sung in the pastoral Opera of the Forest Rose. 



PASTORAL. 19 

fWarg's <8f rate* 

Air-~Yowig Henry was as brave a youth. 

Let those whose hearts have learn'd to glow 
With love that ne'er can change or vary, 

Permit one pitying tear to flow 
O'er the cold grave of hapless Mary. 

She loved, alas ! a treacherous youth, 
Who feign'd to love the artless fairy j 

Too late she proved him void of truth, 
And death relieved the hapless Mary. 

No more she shines the queen of May, 

Nor graces more the rustic dairy, 
For ah ! the spoiler bore away 

The rifled sweets of hapless Mary. 

O then, ye artless nymphs, beware I 

In trusting faithless man, be wary, 
And thus escape the fiend Despair, 

That dug the grave of hapless Maiy. 



While slaves of ambition sell comfort for fame, 
Be mine the applause of the wise and the good, 

A conscience that daily acquits me of blame, 
In a neat little cottage that stands near a wood, 



20 MELODIES 

Air~-The sun sets at night 

green was the poplar, when, under its shade, 

1 exchanged the soft vow with my shepherdess maid; 
But winter soon blighted its sweet summer hue, 

So hope faded when I hade Lilla adieu. 

Be constant, I sighed, till thy Damon return, 
For still this fond bosom for Lilla will burn ; 
My heart, like the compass, to love shall be true, 
She wept, as I murmur'd — dear Lilla, adieu ! 

But doom'd was my Lilla another to bless, 
And doom'd is her Damon to pine in distress ; 
Like leaves of the poplar, which tempests then strew* 
My hopes were all scattered — so, Lilla, adieu ! 

The spring soon return' d, and the poplar was drest, 
But peace had for ever forsaken my breast ; 
From the music of nature no comfort I drew, 
For the birds and the streams murmur'd, Lilla, adieu ! 

When, torn by my sorrows, I bow to my doom, 
Will a tear from my Lilla e'er fall on my tomb ? 
When the leaves on the poplar are blasted and few, 
They'll sigh in the breeze, dearest Lilla, adieu ! 



PASTORAL, 21 

Air — Blue-eyed Mary. 

They sing of blue-eyed Mary, 

Who gathered flowers to sell, 
But there's a sweeter fairy, 

In Harlem's flowery dell ; 
Whose violets, pinks, and roses, 

Display a richer bloom, 
'Twere bliss to gain such posies, 

And taste their rich perfume. 

The violet's softest azure 

Is swimming in her eye ; 
The rose's vermil treasure, 

On either cheek we spy ; 
The fragrant pink's carnation, 

Its nectar and perfume, 
In sweetest combination, 

Have dress'd her lips in bloom. 

And she has learn'd to cherish 

A never-fading flower ; 
When pinks and roses perish 

'Twill still adorn her bower ; 
Its tints will never vary, 

Its fragrance ne'er depart, 
'Twill always bloom with Mary, 

'Tis planted in her heart. 



22 MELODIES. 

SFfte Uashtttl Sober* 

Jlfusic by Davies.* 

When bashful Lubin sought my hand, 

My heart his suit approved, 
But, feigning not to understand, 

I listened still unmoved. 
For dim, I thought, must burn that flame, 

Which such a check could smother, 
And sprightly girls are not to blame 

To spurn a bashful lover. 

Poor Lubin told a friend his case, 

Who soon his fears allay'd, 
And bade him wear a bolder face — 

He listen'd, and obey'd. 
Returning soon, with altered mien, 

He might at once discover, 
That sprightly girls, of gay sixteen, 

Ne'er spurn a saucy lover. 



In life's fair morn, when sunshine warm'd the scene> 
And fairy hopes danced o'er the laughing green, 
My infant muse essay'd the artless strain, 
On Charles's bank, or Newton's verdant plain. 

* As sung in the pastoral Opera of the Forest Rose. 



PASTORAL. 23 

Tis pleasant, when the world is still, 

And evening's mantle shrouds the vale, 
To hear the pensive whipperwill 

Pour her deep notes along the dale ; 
While through the self-taught rustic's flute 

Wild warhlings wake upon the gale, 
And from each thicket, marsh, and tree, 
The cricket, frog, and katy-dee, 
With various notes assist the glee, 

Nor once through all the night are mute. 

The streamlet murmurs o'er its bed, 

The wanton zephyrs kiss its breast, 
Bid the green bulrush bend its head, 

And sigh thro' groves in verdure dress'd ; 
While Cynthia, from her silver horn, 

Throws magic shades o'er evening's vest ; 
Sheds smiles upon the brow of night, 
Not dazzling, like day's shower of light, 
But soft as dew, which mocks the sight 

Till seen to sparkle on the thorn. 



Now sober Pomona has won 
The frolicksome Flora's domains, 

And the work the gay goddess begun, 
The height of maturity gains. 



24 MELODIES. 

Jt lobe to hear* 

I love to hear the flute's sweet notes, 

On zephyr's balmy pinion borne ; 
While soft the melting cadence floats, 
And sighing echoes wake to mourn. 
Stealing on the raptured ear, 
At the closing hour of day, 
Wildly warbling, sweet and clear, 
Grateful as affection's tear, 
Then in murmurs die away. 

I love to hear, when blushing morn 

First tips the clouds with rosy hue, 
The new-waked lark salute the dawn, 
His matin song of praise renew. 
Singing as he skims the plain, 
Or directs his flight above ; 
Waking all the tuneful train 
To begin the sylvan strain, 
Harmonizing every grove. 

I love to hear, when mid-day heat 

With listless languor fills the brain, 
Deep in some shady, cool retreat, 
The distant waterfall complain, 
As it leaps the craggy mound, 

Pouring down the rocky height, 
Foaming o'er the pebbled ground, 
While it sparkles on the sight. 



PASTORAL. 25 

But when with her, whose image dwells 

Within my glowing breast, I stray, 
The music more divinely swells, 
The lark more sweetly tunes his lay; 
While beneath the shade we rove, 

Murmuring streamlets sooth the ear, 
Thro' the calm sequestered grove, 
Echo whispers only love — 
Cupids only hover near. 

&nf or Mo. 

Air — Sweep Soot, Ho! 

The groves their vernal sweets have lost, 

No blossoms now perfume the gale, 
The lawns are silvered o'er with frost, 

And autumn lingers in the vale. 
But do the seasons, as they roll, 

Affect the heart with joy and wo ? 
Can autumn thus depress the soul : 

Or spring elate it ? — Yes, or no ? 

The grove again shall yield its shade, 

And vernal sweets perfume the gale, 
The modest violet deck the glade, 

And richest verdure clothe the vale. 
But will the flower of hope survive, 

And gain from spring a brighter glow ? 
A smile, sweet maid, would bid it thrive, 

Wilt thou bestow it ? — Yes, or no ? 
3 



26 MELODIES. 

Wxt 2Tom6 of l^enrs. 

Composed by Phillips; also by Clifton; but originally 
adapted to the air of the Bay of Biscay, 

Where Hudson's murmuring billows 

Kiss Jersey's verdant shore, 
Beneath those spreading willows 

Sleeps Henry of the moor. 
The pride of all the plain 
Was Anna's chosen swain : 
But Anna weeps, for Henry sleeps 
Beneath the weeping willow tree. 

They loved with pure affection, 
Their artless souls were true ; 

The promising connexion 

Their friends with rapture view, 

And name the morn of May 

Their happy wedding day. 
But Anna weeps, for Henry sleeps 

Beneath the weeping willow tree. 

They hail the rising morrow, 
Which dawns to see them blest ; 

But ah ! ere eve, what sorrow 
Fills Anna's lovely breast I 

She sees the Hudson's wave 

Become her Henry's grave ; 
And Anna weeps, for Henry sleeps 

Beneath the weeping willow tree. 



PASTORAL. 27 

She tears her flowing tresses, 

Invokes his parted breath, 
And with her wild caresses 

Invites him back from death \ 
But ah I her lip's warm kiss 
Imparts no glow to his ! 
And Anna weeps, for Henry sleeps 
Beneath the weeping willow tree. 

She sees beneath the willow 

Her lover laid to rest, 
The earth his nuptial pillow, 

And not her virgin breast. 
Around his verdant tomb 
The early daisies bloom ; 
There Anna weeps, there Henry sleeps 
Beneath the weeping willow tree. 



The noblest talent love can claim^ 
Is never to appear the same ; 
For 'tis variety alone, 
That props the urchin-tyrant's throne. 
So do the seasons, as they range, 
Afford new pleasure when they change : 
The sweetest flower would cease to cheer, 
Should fragrant spring bloom all the year. 



28 MELODIES. 

CStootr J&orufng- 

The blushing precursor of Phoebus expands 

The crystalline portals of light ; 
And scatters the dew-dripping tints from her hands, 

To crimson the mantle of night. 
SLeep shakes his soft pinions and soars to the sky, 

With rapture I greet my dear Jane, 
Whose health-glowing visage and love-beaming eye, 

Aurora but mimics in vain — 

Good Morning. 

Thy presence to me is the dawning of light, 

And pleasure illumines my breast ; 
But, ah ! in thy absence, morn changes to night — 

Hope sinks like the star of the west. 
Then let us, my fair one, the moments improve 

Which morning allows us for bliss, 
Let the new-risen day be devoted to love, 

And, in earnest, accept of a kiss — 
Good Morning. 

When evening returns, and in slumber I lie, 

Then fancy the scene shall retrace ; 
Shall light up anew the soft glance of thine eye, 

And restore me thy blissful embrace. 
And when thro' the lattice Aurora's tints play, 

O fly to the arms of thy swain, 
With him taste the sweets of the infantile day, 

And hear him repeat, on the plain — 
Good Morning. 



PASTORAL. 29 

Aurora paints the orient skies with light, 

With rosy pencil tinges every cloud, 
Unfolds her gates upon the rear of night, 

And strips the mountain of its sable shroud. 

The conscious stars conceal their twinkling fires, 
Night's waning empress turns more sickly pale, 

Her votary the whizzing bat retires, 

The owl suspends her harsh complaining tale. 

The lark awakes and tunes his matin song, 
And all the sylvan warblers join the theme, 

The whistling ploughman drives his team along, 
And sporting swans sail stately down the stream. 

The peach-bloom in the breathing zephyr plays, 
And shakes soft odours from its silken leaves ; 

The apple, too, a silver garb displays, 

Whence morning's breath a rich perfume receives* 

And see ! the ocean sparkles on the sight, 
What lovely hues upon its surface play ; 

The liquid mirror streams with dazzling light, 
Reflected from the rising god of day. 

Adieu, dull couch ! for nature more can please, 
While o'er her rich enamel'd breast I stray, 

Inhaling sweets which freight the balmy breeze, 
Stolen in kisses from the lips of May. 



30 MELODIES. 

Air — When poor, the spirits flag. 

When mellow autumn yields 

All her golden treasures, 
Then those who dress'd the fields, 

Partake of harvest pleasures. 
This, lads, is harvest-home : 

Those who labour daily, 
Well know 'tis sweet to come, 

And pass the evening gaily. 
Then let each heart be light, 

Here's no room for sorrow, 
Joy holds her court to night, 

Care may call to-morrow. 

Now labour wipes his brow, 

Rest and plenty wait him, 
Barn, cellar, rick, and mow, 

Are fill'd to recreate him. 
Scythe, sickle, rake and hoe, 

All are now suspended, 
Like trophies in a row, 

For future use intended. 

Then let each heart be light, 

Here's no room for sorrow, 

Joy holds her court to-night, 

Care may call to-morrow. 



PASTORAL. 31 

Now gay Pomona's store 

Past exertions blesses ; 
Rich streams of nectar pour, 

Sparkling from her presses, 
j^ull goblets, steaming board, 

Crown the farmer's labours, 
These real bliss afford, 

When shared by jovial neighbours. 
Then let each heart beat light, &c. 



atfoafce, mg treat $mt. 

Air — Sweet Home. 

Thro' curtains of crimson and azure, my Jane, 
Infant day, in its cradle, is smiling again ; 
Its eyelids are gem'd with the dew-drops of night, 
Which glitter and sparkle like pearls in the light. 
Jane ! sweet Jane ! — Awake, my dear Jane ! 

O list to the warblings that float on the air ! 
The gay feathered songsters are calling my fair ! 
The blackbird and robin, the linnet and jay, 
All join with thy Sandy to call thee away. 

Jane ! sweet Jane ! — Awake, my dear Jane ! 

The lads anu the lasses are all on the green, 
The shepherds have chosen my Jane for their queen, 
The May-pole is rear'd, and the garlands are twined, 
And a balm-breathing wreath is for Jenny design'd. 
Jane ! sweet Jane !— Awake, my dear Jane I 



32 MELODIES. 

%tfotn n\\z lifce we* 

Air — Allen a Roon, or Robin Adair. 

say, my flattering heart, 
Loves she like me ? 

Is her's thy counterpart, 

Throbs it like thee? 
Does she remember yet, 
The spot where first we met, 
Which I shall ne'er forget, 

Loves she like me ? 

Soft echoes still repeat, 
" Loves she like me?" 

When on that mossy seat, 
Beneath the tree, 

1 wake my amorous lay, 
While lambkins round me play, 
And whispering zephyrs say, 

Loves she like me? 

On her I think by day, 

Loves she like me ? 
With her in dreams I stray, 

O'er mead or lea. 
My hopes of earthly bliss 
Are all comprised in this, 
To share her nuptial kiss, 

Loves she like me ? 



PASTORAL. 33 



Does absence give her pain ? 

Loves she like me ? 
And does she thus arraign 

Fortune's decree? 
Does she my name repeat? 
Will she with rapture greet 
The hour that sees us meet ? 

Loves she like me ? 



EesOre a Streamlet 

Beside a streamlet, where the whispering reeds 
And fragrant flags upon its borders play, 

Where down the valley it meandering leads, 
My infant footsteps first were taught to stray. 

ThesylvanMuse enticed me to her cell, 

My childish fingers wanton'd o'er her lyre, 

And, pleased to hear the rustic numbers swell, 

I fondly thought that others must admire. 

i 
So, as I grew, and learn' d to sweep the strings, 

By art directed, though less sweetly wild, 

I envied not the happiness of kings, 

My lyre was bliss, and I a happy child. 

With fond regret I left that calm retreat, 
Diversified with meadows, groves, and hills, 

Where nature's charms in sweet disorder meet, 
With Charles's thousand tributary rills. 



34 MELODIES. 

She Ha^JWafcem 

Air — The Braes of Balquhiiher. 

It is sweet, love, to stray, 

When the noon-tide is over, 
Thro' the wind-rows of hay, 

And the white-blossom'd clover ; 
Where each lass may partake 

In the toil and the pleasure, 
Keeping time, with the rake, 

To the lark's tuneful measure 
O 'tis sweet thus to stray, 

When the noon-tide is over, 
Thro' the wind-rows of hay, 

And the white-blossom'd clover. 

There the swains cut their paths 

Thro' the sections assign'd tLom, 
Leaving sweet-scented swaths 

Swelling gaily behind them. 
Tender childhood and age, 

Sturdy manhood and beauty. 
All with ardour engage 

In so pleasing a duty. 
O 'tis sweet thus to stray, 

When the noon-tide is over, 
Thro' the wind-rows of hay, 

And the white-blossom'd clover. 



PASTORAL. 35 

As the billow of grass 

O'er the meadow is driven, 
By some rose-visaged lass 

'Tis divided and riven, 
When her swain lends his aid, 

And the green hillock rises, 
Then the half-willing maid 

With a sly kiss surprises. 
O 'tis sweet thus to stray, 

When the noon-tide is over, 
Thro' the wind-rows of hay, 

And the white-blossom'd clover. 

See the gay romping elves, 

Now the sweet task is over, 
All amusing themselves, 

On the balm-breathing clover ; 
There the swain whispers love 

To his heart's dearest treasure, 
Who affects to reprove, 

While her eyes beam with pleasure 
O 'tis sweet thus to stray, 

When the noon-tide is over, 
Thro' the wind-rows of hay, 

And the white-blossom'd clover. 



How oft, reclined beside a babbling stream 
I sang of love — a minstrel's sweetest dream, 
And sang sincerely — for I felt the theme. 



MELODIES. 

H— ATVTATOBY j».3TD S£NTIM£NTAL. 

JL SMILE FIIOM THEE. 

Music by Davies.* 

A smile from thee would banish pain, 

And bid each doubt and sorrow flee, 
I ask but this, once more to gain 

A smile from thee. 
I've sought thee long, with fruitless sighs, 

And were my bright reward to be 
A tender glance from those soft eyes, 

'Twere heaven to me. 
A smile from thee would banish pain, &c. 

But ah ! if doom'd no more to meet, 
Whate'er my future fate may be, 
This faithful heart will ever beat 

With love for thee. 
And when I close a life of pain, 

The gloomy hour of death will be 
An hour of bliss, if then I gain 

A tear from thee. 
A smile from thee would banish pain, &c 

* As sung in the pastoral Opera of the Forest Rose. 
4 



33 MELODIES. 

THE WREATH OF LOVE. 

Air — Lovely Nan. 

Let Fame her wreath for others twine, 
The fragrant wreath of love be mine, 

With balm-distilling blossoms wove ; 
Let the shrill trumpet's hoarse alarms 
Bid laurels grace the victor's arms, 

Where havoc's blood-stain' d banners move 
Be mine to wake the softer notes 
Where Acidalia's banner floats, 

And weave the gentler wreath of love. 

The balmy rose let stoics scorn, 

Let squeamish mortals dread the thorn, 

And fear the pleasing pain to prove ; 
I'll fearless bind it to my heart, 
While every pang its thorns impart 

The floweret's balsam shall remove ; 
For, sweetened by the nectared kiss, 
; Tis pain that gives a zest to bliss, 

And freshens still the wreath of love. 

Give me contentment, peace, and health, 
A moderate share of worldly wealth, 

And friends such blessings to improve ; 
A heart to give when misery pleads, 
To heal or bind each wound that bleeds, 

And every mental pain remove ; 



AMATORY. 30 

But with these give — else all deny — 
The fair for whom I breathe the sigh, 
And wedlock be a wreath of love. 

Connubial bliss, unknown to strife, 
A faithful friend — a virtuous wife, 

Be mine for many years to prove 1 
Our wishes one, within each breast 
The dove of peace shall make her nest, 

Nor ever from the ark remove ; 
Till call'd to heav'n, through ages there 
Be ours the blissful lot to wear 

A never-fading wreath of love. 



THE MINIATURE. 

Music by Davies.* 

That tranquil brow, and pensive eye, 

Those parted lips of ruby die ; 

Each grace that life and reason give, 

Is kindling here, and seems to live ! 

A playful smile illumes the cheek ! 

Those rubies move!— 'twill speak !— 'twill speak 

'Twas fancy all ! — That senseless bone 
Could ne'er be taught her dulcet tone ; 
No art can teach that eye to move, 
Those ruby lips are dead to love. 
Illusive dream ! — too soon it flies, 
The vision fades ! — it dies ! — it dies ! 

* As suns in the pastoral Opera of the Forest Rose. 



40 MELODIES. 

PEACEFUL HOME. 

Music by Demies.* 

The heart sustain' d by hope alone, 
The pains of absence may endure, 

But, ah ! when even hope is flown, 
Its sorrow has no cure. 

'Tis then we sigh, where'er we roam, 

For our maternal, peaceful home. 

Tho' mourning like a mateless dove, 
The languid heart be doom'd to beat, 

It cannot, will not, cease to love, 
It finds the pain so sweet ; 

Yet heaves a sigh, where'er we roam, 

For our maternal, peaceful home. 



THE BUDDING HOPES. 

The budding hopes which hourly spring, 

While Fancy's bower is young and green, 
Too often perish ere they fling 

Their viewless odours round the scene ; 
But, oh ! there's one, which, planted here, 

The heart's red current flows to cherish, 
And should that blossom disappear, 

The soil it springs from too must perish. 

* As sung in the pastoral Opera of the Forest Rose. 



AMATORY. 41 

LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 

A Polacca — Music by Dairies.* 

When infant Cupid ventured first 

To spread his purple wing, 
It chanced he stopp'd, to slake his thirst, 

At the pierian spring ; 
When, rising from the crystal stream, 

A monster caught his eye, 
Poor Cupid started with a scream, 

But strove in vain to fly. 

To slay the little winged boy 

The daemon vainly strove, 
His fangs could wound, but not destroy, 

The son of peerless Jove. 
He follows still — (they never part) 

But vainly vents his ire ; 
Tho' jealous tortures wring the heart, 

Yet ne'er can love expire. 



There is a magic harp, whose dulcet tones 

iEolus only has the skill to wake ; 
Which breathes at night its sweetly-sighing moan 

If no rude blast the soft enchantment break, 
He comes, with fragrance on his lucid wings* 
And fondly stoops to kiss the silken strings. 

* As sung in the pastoral Opera of the Forest Rose. 
4* 



42 MELODIES. 

MUSIC THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE. 

Music arranged by E. Riley. 

Yes, Love can discourse independent of eyes, 
The pressure of hands, or the breathing of sighs ; 
Attend, then, its accents, and deign to approve, 
For music, dear girl, is the language of love. 

'Tis true that the eyes and the lips may impart 
A counterfeit sentiment, tutor'd by art ; 
But nought can the pulses of sympathy move 
Like music, for that is the language of love. 

The tone of affection is framed in the soul, 
'Tis spirit, unfettered by matter's control ; 
For what is the language of seraphs above, 
But music ? — and there 'tis the language of love. 

Then doubt, dearest maiden, professions and sighs, 
The glow of the hand, the expression of eyes; 
But doubt not the soul's aspirations, which prove, 
That music is still the true language of love. 



My gentle Muse on Heliconia strays, 
Or gaily sports in sweet Pierian bowers, 

And, when descending to inspire my lays, 
Her airy form is but the breath of flowers. 



AMATORY. 43 

I LOVE ONLY THEE. 

Air — Believe me, if all those endearing young charms. 

Believe not the slanders that envy may frame, 
But confess, when the past you review, 

That tho' malice may couple reproach with his name, 

, Dear Mary, thy Edwin is true. 

I will own that my heart flutters gaily, awhile, 
For every fair face that I see ; 

But tho' ever delighted with woman's sweet smile, 
1 love, dearly love, only thee. 

Repine not that festival joys may detain 

Thy lover awhile from thy arms ; 
For with each sparkling goblet he ventures to dram, 

He whispers a toast to thy charms. 
I will own that, when friendship and evening invite, 

I join in such revels with glee ; 
But thy smile can alone give me perfect delight, 

For I love, dearly love, only thee. 



While folly's shrine attracts the fair, 
Blame not the beaux who worship there ; 
If gods for you took meaner shapes, 
No wonder we descend to apes ; 
Let beauty smile on worth alone, 
And fops and fools will not be known. 



44 MELODIES. 

LOVE'S EVES. 

Air— Roy's Wife. 

Love's eyes are so enchanting, 
Bright, smiling, soft, and granting. 
Pulses play 
At every ray, 
And hearts at every glance are panting. 
Before the beamy eye of morn, 

We view the shades of night receding, 
So tender glances banish scorn, 
For who can frown while love is pleading? 
Love's eyes are so enchanting, &c 

No bandage can those eyes conceal, 
Tho' bards in fabled tales rehearse it ; 

For if he wore a mask of steel, 

Affection's ardent gaze would pierce it. 
Love's eyes are so enchanting, &c. 

Beware, then, lest some artful elf 

The infant's smiles and armour borrow 
To win a throb of joy for self, 

And give his victim years of sorrow. 
Love's eyes are so enchanting, 
Bright, smiling, soft, and granting 3 
Pulses play 
At every ray, 
And hearts at every glance are panting* 



AMATORY. 45 

LOVE AND VALOUR. 
•4ir — JFTiile in camp my soldier lies. 

Sounds of war were swelling wild, 

Fearful notes the bugle blew ; 
Infant Love, a timid child, 

Trembled at the rat-tat-too. 
But inspired by Valour's- breath, 

Love with war familiar grew, 
Fearless view'd the strife of death, 

Smiled to hear the rat-tat-too. 

Swift a shaft at Valour's heart 

From the infant's bow-string flew ; 
Valour heeded not the dart, 

List'ning to the rat-tat-too. 
Yet that dart was tipp'd with red, 

Ella's heart-blood lent the hue ; 
But in vain had Ella bled, 

Valour loved the rat-tat-too 

Through the camp the infant stray'd, 

Hope receding now from view ; 
Secret griefs Ins sighs betray'd, 

Mingling with the rat-tat-too. 
Valour will not yield to Love, 

Hope to Ella bids adieu ; 
Sad, desponding, widow'd dove, 

Listless to the rat-tat-too. 



4€ MELODIES. 

LOVE'S XiEGER. 

Air — My ain kind dearie, 

1 own myself your debtor -, love, 

For 'tis to you my bliss I owe, 
Then say if I'd not better, love, 

Repay the balance kiss I owe ? 
In justice you'll receipt it, love, 

And prove that you are true to me ; 
If I should then repeat it, love, 

There'll be a balance due to me. 

That little urchin Cupid, love, 

The only clerk we keep, you know, 
Is either blind or stupid, love, 

And apt to fall asleep, you know. 
'Tis best, then, thus to jog him, love, 

And make him earn his pay, you know ; 
For, should we chide or flog him, love, 

The boy might run away, you know. 

The rogue possesses talents, love, 

His pinions furnish quills, you know, 
And when he strikes a balance, love, 

He must inspect our bills, you know. 
Then let us ne'er dispute, my love, 

While Time enjoyment rifles so, 
But take a kiss to boot, my love, 

I cannot stand on trifles so. 



AMATORY. 47 

Short reckonings make long friends, my love, 

Accounts should ne'er be running so, 
Then let us make amends, my love, 

For 'tis unpleasant dunning so. 
Through life's allotted term, my love. 

If thus we don't forget we owe, 
When death dissolves the firm, my love, 

We'll pay the only debt we owe. 



A KISS. 

Music by Davies. 

Does Eliza remember, ere fashion had taught her 
To lend the heart's impulse hypocrisy's guise, 

How oft, in our plays, to my bosom I caught her, 
And wonder' d a touch could so brighten the eyes ? 

Familiar to me is the sweet recollection, 
I well can remember the thrill and the glow, 

The flush and the smile that illumed her complexion, 
Like the first ray of morning reflected on snow. 

And I ask'd what it was that the senses thus raptured, 
And bade through my pulses such ecstacies roll, 

The charm which reflection bewildered and captured— 
A kiss was the answer — it melted my soul. 



18 MELODIES. 

TO SOMEBODY. 

Music by Davies. 

Oh I shall ne'er forget the spot 

Where smiles of joy were wont to greet me, 
Where ardent hearts dissembled not, 

But bounded with delight to meet me. 
Though rugged winter held his sway, 

And all without was cold and dreary, 
Yet, warmed by beauty's melting ray, 

I thought the season bright and cheery. 

But doom'd, alas ! too soon to part, 

And wander far from love and beauty, 
I felt a winter in my heart, 

And cheerless seem'd the path of duty. 
I dragg'd along the heavy way 

A lengthen' d chain that made we weary, 
While Hope refused one glimmering ray 

To light a scene so dark and dreary. 

But see ! at length stern winter flies, 

A brighter season glows before me, 
The summer radiance of those eyes 

Shall yet to life and joy restore me. 
Till then, let retrospection feed 

The flame which smiling hope should cherish, 
For, oh * how this poor heart would bleed, 

Should thine permit that flame to perish. 



AMATORY. 

THIS GARLAND. 

Jl Scotch Air. 

I would a garland twine, my love, 

But nature's flowers decay, 
And ah! that brow of thine, my love, 

Deserves a fadeless bay. 
But song shall crown thee, listen! 

And let those eyes of fire 
With approbation glisten, 

Thy minstrel to inspire. 

'Tis not exterior charms, my love, 

That faultless shape and face, 
Those pearly polished arms, my love, 

That air of witching grace — 
But 'tis those mental treasures, 

Which few, alas ! can claim, 
By which the poet measures 

Thy beauty, wit, and fame. 

Time dims the brightest eye, my love, 

That form will lose its grace, 
That cheek its vermil dye, my love, 

And age will mark the face; 
But virtue, love, and duty, 

Retain immortal bloom, 
Survive the wreck of beauty, 

And decorate her tomb. 
5 



50 MELODIES. 

TO MY WIFE. 

Air — Loudon's bonny woods and braes, 

Nay, my all of joy that's left, 

Droop not thus in gloom, Lydia; 
Though each flower of hope be cleft, 

Other buds will bloom, Lydia; 
Never of the future borrow — 
Though another storm of sorrow 
Rifle every leaf to-morrow 

From the thorny stem, Lydia, 
Let us with unshaken mind, 
Yield such toys, and be resign' d, 
And, if nought but thorns we find, 

Make a toy of them, Lydia. 

Fortune must be blind indeed, 

We mistake her powers, Lydia, 
Else could love unheeded plead? 

Faithful love, like ours, Lydia? 
Let us, then, her gifts disdaining, 
Without murmur, or complaining, 
Or the will of Heaven arraigning, 

Fix our hopes above, Lydia ; 
Though, while we are pilgrims here, 
Poverty may press severe, 
Yet we shall, through life, my dear, 

Still be rich in love, Lydia. 



AMATORY- 51 

Droop not, dearest — God is kind 

When he seems severe, Lydia ; 
Blessings yet remain behind 

Which we hold most dear, Lydia : 
Innocence, the soul's best treasure, 
Mutual faith, disdaining measure, 
Love, and its appendant pleasure, 

What can these destroy, Lydia? 
These are ours — with these endued, 
Nought should check our gratitude 
To the source of every good 

Mortals can enjoy, Lydia. 



THE NOSEGAY. 

Here the rose and lily, twining, 
Her enchanting face bespeak ; 

For the sweetest hues, combining, 
Decorate her lovely cheek. 

In this blushing pink that deck'd her, 
Glows an emblem of her lip, 

Both distilling purest nectar, 
Both inviting mine to sip. 

In this violet I discover 

Her sweet eye's cerulean hue ; 

Like the star of love, above her. 
Sparkling in etherial blue. 



52 MELODIES. 

THE SIGH. 
A French Air. 

Softly stealing from her breast 
Ere its lovely keeper knew, 
Forth a sigh emerging flew : 

I received the trembling guest, 
Thrilling in my raptur'd ear, 

Sinking on my heart to rest, 
With ecstatic throbbings dear. 

Ah ! dear Mary, luckless fair, 
You perceived its flight too late : 

Guard such tell-tale rogues with care ; 

For the tidings which they bear 
Cast the colour of our fate. 

Think you what it told my heart ? 

'Twds the messenger of peace, 

Bidding every doubt to cease, 
Every sorrow to depart ; 

'Twas the olive-bearing dove 
Guiding hope into the ark ; 

'Twas the harbinger of love, * 

Flitting from that warm recess 

Where thy thoughts in secret dwell : 
What thy lips would ne'er confess, 
Though thy suppliant sure to bless, 

This sweet fugitive will tell. 



AMATORY. 53 



Hark ! it whispers to my heart — 

" Hence with every servile fear ; 

Hope alone may revel here ; 
Doubt and cold distrust, depart. 

Her's as it responsive heaves, 
Shall confess the urchin's dart 

Rapture with the anguish leaves.'' 
Tell me not I dream of bliss, 

If I do, still let me sleep, 
Snatch me not from joy like this 
The reality to miss ; — 

Never wake a wretch to weep. 



X SIGH NOT FOR GX.OR1T. 

I sigh not for glory to dazzle the crowd, 
I ask not for fortune to strut with the proud, 
I covet no title of any degree, 
Except, my dear Rosa, a title to thee. 
But yet if the fatss have unkindly ordain'd, 
That these must be mine ere thy hand is obtain'd, 
Inspir'd by the smiling young hopes which I cherish, 
I'll ask them, and win them, dear Rosa, or perish. 



Yes, love has its sorrows, but who would refuse 'em, 

So mingled with rapture and joy? 
What mortal the rose would discard from his bosom, 

For fear mat its thorns mignt aanoy^ 



54 MELODIES. 

THE REPULSE. 

Air — Maggie Lauder. 

When first I sought my Lydia's love, 

I talk'd of flames and rapture ; 
And with unceasing ardour strove 

Her gentle heart to capture. 
"I'll quit the world if I'm denied," 

I said without reflection ; 
" If you think best," the fair replied, 

" I've not the least objection," 

" Hard-hearted girl ! for your embrace, 

" To dastard fear a stranger, 
" Arabia's desert sands I'll trace, 

"And laugh at every danger; 
" Or scale the Andes' steepest side, 

"To merit your affection!" 
"As you think best," she still replied, 

"I've not the least objection." 

" Can nothing more you? — is he doom'd 

" To years of gloom and sorrow, 
" Who fondly thought you would have bloom'd 

" His lovely bride to-morrow ? - 
"My family, with joy and pride, 

"Expect the blest connexion." 
"As you think best," she smiling cried, 

" I've not the least objection." 



AMATORY. SB 

GIVING AND RECEIVING. 

Music by Swindells, 

The suppliant departed, while gratitude's tear 
In his joy-beaming eye was suspended ; 

My heart bounded light, for my Lydia was near, 
Who thus the donation commended : 

" The bosom which softens at Misery's wound, 

And proffers the balsam to heal him, 
With the glow of contentment must joyfully bound, 

And such is the breast of my Selim." 

" But which," I exclaim'd, as the fair one I press'd, 
While her eye with affection was brighten'd, 

" Receiver, or donor, which think you most blest? 
Whose joy by the action most heightened ?" 

" The being, she answer'd, you saved from despair, 

Who tastes, by the sudden reversion, 
Of exquisite bliss a proportionate share, 

To the depth of his recent immersion." 

Her answer was sweeten'd with love's nectar'd kiss, 
And my breast with the transport was heaving, 

As I own'd, with a sigh, that tho' giving was bliss, 
It was faint to the joy of receiving. 



56 MELODIE? 

TO MIAHIA* 

Awake again thy witching lyre. 

Its tones have slept too long ; 
But thy sweet touches, dear Maria, 
Can call a spirit from the wire, 
With eyes of light and lips of fire — 

O wake him into song. 

Why should the sweetest gift of Jove 

In useless silence lie, 
When thou canst make it speak and mo^ 
To charm our grief, inspire our love, 
And raise our thoughts to things above. 

Why, sweet Maria — why ? 

Why brood o'er past affliction's smart. 

With sad and tearful e}^e, 
When thine is the bewitching art, 
The sweetest rapture to impart, 
And kindle joy in every heart, 
Why, loved Maria — why ? 



Tho' parting was painful, the wound it inflicted 
Will soon be forgot in the glow of a kiss ; 

Tho' grief on the visage has oft been depicted 
The tear shall soon glisten a tribute of bliss. 






AMATORY. 57 

AND DID X UPBRAID YOU? 

Air — And has she then fair d in her truth? 

And did I upbraid you, my love ? 

pardon a fault I deplore ; 

For while you thus sweetly reprove, 

1 feel I can never doubt more. 

No — no— no — I shall never doubt you more. 

I own I suspected your truth, 

And envied a rival's success ; 
For jealousy pictured a youth 

Whom pity would prompt you to bless. 
Whom pity — pity — pity would prompt you to bless. 

And did I upbraid you, my love ? 

pardon a fault I deplore ; 

For while you thus sweetly reprove, 

1 feel I can never doubt more. 

No — no — no— I shall never doubt you more. 

My doubts I now give to the wind, 

For Mary is constant and fair, 
Though lately I thought her unkind, 

And gave myself up to despair. 
Despair— despair — despair — and gave myself up, &c 

And did I upbraid you, my love? 
O pardon a fault I deplore, &c. 



58 MELODIES. 

MATURE AND THE FISSIONS. 

The stranger awoke, and with wonder survey'd 
The unexplor'd regions on which she was thrown 

Rude Chaos the scene — and the infantile maid 
Was Nature, just risen from sources unknown. 

Her form, the fair abstract of Infinite thought, 
The unblemish'd model of harmony moved ; 

Her accents the spirit of melody taught, 

Her smile was celestial — and Heaven approved* 

Rut scarce could the infant existence admire, 
When hosts of rude demons encounter'd the chil 

Revenge and rough Anger, with optics of fire, 
And frenzy-struck Terror, shriek'd horribly wild. 

Attended by Rapine, fell Murder appear'd, 
Led onward by Avarice, Malice, and Hate ; 

Their snaky crests Envy and Jealousy rear'd, 
As blood-stain'd Ambition tore laurels from fate. 

This phalanx of fiends, with Despair in their >ain, 
With scourges of scorpions the infant assail'd, 

And pitiless heard the sweet stranger complain, 
Deep deluged in sorrow which nothing avail'd. 

Compassion beheld — and to regions above, 
In the incense of sighs, her petition convey'd; 

Infinity heard, and the answer was — love, 
Who came in the srarb of an angel array'd. 



AMATORY, 59 

Her presence made cruel Ambition depart, 
Hate, Murder, and Rapine, the goddess confess'd; 

Her touch palsied Malice, and blunted his dart, 
And even lank Avarice opened his breast. 

She spoke — and Revenge was subdued by the charm ; 

She smil'd — and the scene was deserted by Fear; 
She sigh'd — and pale Jealousy fled with alarm ; 

She wept — and rough Anger dissolved in the tear. 

Her magic the vulture transform'd to a dove, 
And Nature again was delighted and blest — 

Thus each ruder passion is subject to Love, 
The genius that tempers and governs the rest. 



I HAD A LYRE. 
Air — Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon* 

I had a lyre when hope was young, 
But 'twas the plaything of a child; 

Of love I then delighted sung, 
And swept its chords with transport wild. 

But now its tones I cannot swell, 
Its spirit and its voice have fled, 

That lyre is but a tuneless shell, 

For I have sold its chords for bread. 



60 MELODIES. 

THE MEETING, 

I saw them meet — the pangs of absence o'er, 
And Memory holds a picture of the place : 

'Twas at the threshold of her cottage door, 
Eliza met her husband's warm embrace. 

How animated shone her eager eye, 

Where joy's delicious tear suspended hung ! 

Her bosom heaved—but pleasure rais'd the sigh ; 
Her voice was mute — but bliss had seal'd her tongue. 

Press'd in his arms, the chaste connubial kiss 
Her ruby lips by turns received and gave ; 

Then, as ashamed of the excessive bliss, 
Affection's blush she bids his bosom save. 

But recollection whisper'd yet a joy 

'Twas hers to give ; and from the trance she starts, 
Puts in his arms their little infant boy, 

Love's precious pledge, that closer binds their hearts. 

While round their sire the elder prattlers cling ; 

Beg for a kiss ; their little tales recite ; 
Each emulous some trifling boon to bring, 

And share their parents' unalloy'd delight. 

Forgotten now is separation's smart, 

Or but remember' d as the zest of joy ; 
Her smiles are sunshine to his gladden'd heart, 

Which love-created fears no more annoy. 



AMATORY. CI 

So, wrapp'd in night, the lonely pilgrim views 
Aurora, blushing, throw her veil aside ; 

And, fill'd with joy, his lighted path pursues, 
Whence erst bewildered he had wander'd wide. 

And is it joy that fills my eye ? I cried — 
Ah, no ! — regret, that such was not my lot; 

But yet to envy 'twas so near allied, 
I blush'd— and sighing, left the happy spot. 



£L DBFAM. 
A Polish Air. 

O stay, sweet vision ! lovely phantom, stay ! 

And longer bless me with thy mimic show ; 
Ah ! fade not thus to empty air away, 

And leave a wretch awake to real wo. 

And did I dream ? Oh ! 'twas a dream so sweet, 
So full of bliss, that heaven had lost its charms; 

And I embraced the dear delusive cheat, 
Then woke, and found despair within my arms. 

Joy's sparkling goblet seems to overflow, 
Her banquet now with tempting sweets appears ; 

But, ah ! I wake to quarT the cup of wo, 
Drink deep of grief, and feast upon my tears. 

6 



62 xMELODJES. 

THE SMIU3 OF LOVE. 

Air — Hail to the Chief. 

Yes, there's a light whose effulgence can brighten 

Grief's gloomy aspect with sparkles of joy, 
Chase from the heart which its splendours enlighten 

Each sombre care that presumes to annoy. 
Pure are its rays, as the dawn's first reflection, 

Grateful as sunbeams when tempests are o'er, 
O 'tis the smile of an artless affection, 

Beaming from eyes and a heart we adore. 
Dark fate may vainly lower, 
O'er hope's enamelled bower, 
The smile of affection each cloud will remove, 
That warm celestial ray melts cloudy care away, 
Earth has no charm like the sweet smile of love. 

While thro' this life's dusky vale we are straying, 

Press'd by misfortune, and harass'd by fears, 
Sighing o'er pictures of fancy, decaying — 

Sprinkling our path-way with unheeded tears, 
Be but the lustre of Love's radiations 

Shed o'er the scene, and its terrors will cease, 
Sighs will be changed into joy's aspirations, 
Tears be converted to dew-drops of peace. 
Bright beam of heavenly bliss ! 
Earth has no charm like this, 
'Tis the reflection of light from above; 
When first we feel the ray, how sweet the pulses play J 
Earth has no charm like the sweet smile of love. 






AMATORY. 63 

TO MISS 3RZ. H. 

Air — As pensive I thought on my love. 

I heard a sweet strain in the grove, 

And listen'd with breathless delight : 
" As pensive I thought on my love, 

"The moon on the mountain shone bright." 
When torn from the arms of her swain, 

In circles of splendour to move, 
Sweet Fatima thus would complain, 

As pensive she thought on her love. 

A palace for her had no charms, 

Unshared by the youth she adored ; 
But press'd in her loved Selim's arms, 

A cottage true bliss could afford. 
Then should fickle Fortune ordain, 

Your Selix^t from hence to remove, 
Will you, while you warble that strain, 

Bestow a fond thought on your love ? 

Some seraph will waft me the sound, 

And whisper the joy to my heart ; 
Though absence must cruelly wound, 

I'll listen, forgetting its smart. 
Then grant that such joy I may find, 

Should fate ever tear me from thee; 
For me let the strain be design'd — 

Be Fatima onlv to me. 



64 MELODIES. 

HARRIET'S FAVORITE POEMS. 

When I survey my Harriet's speaking face, 
The smiles that light, the tears that fill her eyes, 

The frown of anger, or the rose's grace, 
I view the Seasons m succession rise. 

When a glance of affection her optics impart, 

The Pleasures of Hope are alive in my heart. 

Lost in the theme, while bending o'er her lyre, 
She wakes the tones which fascinate the soul, 

I view the Minstrel that I most admire, 
And list in rapture while her numbers roll. 

When, absent, I yield to reflection's sweet power, 

The Pleasures of Memory shorten the hour. 

If she, with fondness, chide my ardent kiss, 
And, with a soft'ning smile, forbearance ask, 

Or bid me, with a frown, forego the bliss, 
I bow submission, but neglect the Task. 

For should she condemn me the bliss to forego, 

In the Grave would I seek for an end of my wo. 

When Fancy through her own creation strays, 
To promised joy delighting still to cling, 

From her alone, my glowing bosom says, 
The Pleasures of Imagination spring. 

But when Curiosity rises to vex, 

Then Paradise Lost I impute to the sex. 



\M ATOKA. 65 

1 told her thus — when^ in her snowy arms, 
My yielding form the angel gently strain'd, 

And I, bewilder':] with a maze of charms, 
Sigh'd in her ear — 'tis Paradise Regained ! 

Retired from elysium, the scene to retrace, 

My Night T ictured the tender embrace. 



TO XyIABEIiLA. 

Air—The Braes o' Glenijfcr. 

The world is no longer the desert I deein'd it, 

While clouds of affliction had veil'd it in gloom, 
For the promise of Hope — though I lightly esteem'd it. 

For once has been faithful, and drcss'd it in bloom. 
The eye of pure friendship is lighted to bless me. 

And Love — O the truest of hearts is my own; 
E'en Fame grows propitious, and deigns to caress me, 

All smile on the minstrel, but Fortune alone. 

Pure friendship — it beams from the eye of Mabella, 

The angel of mercy, and daughter of song ; 
It lights up a zenith so brilliantly stellar, 

I spurn the dull planet to which I belong. 
But, ah! should a cloud rise again to obscure it, 

Exhaled in the malice of Calumny's breath, 
The sensitive pulse of my heart would endure it 

A moment — and then find a refuge in death. 

6* 



66 MELODIES. 

THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 

Air — Tweed Side. 

Embark'd on the ocean of life, 

I steer'd for the haven of bliss ; 
But thro' passion's tempestuous strife, 

My reck'ning was ever a-miss. 
Near Pleasure's enchanted domain 

I plunged in a whirlpool of care, 
Encounter' d the breakers of pain, 

And struck on the rocks of despair. 

Afloat and refitted once more, 

The chart of experience my guide, 
Hope points to the far-distant shore, 

Her smile bids the tempest subside. 
No breakers or quicksands I fear, 

While honour stands firm at the helm ; 
By the compass of reason I'll steer 

To Joy's delectable realm. 

Stern Virtue the port may blockade, 

Yet Hymen will sanction my right, 
And his torch, like a pharos, 6hall aid 

To moor in the stream of delight. 
Then, then, may the genius of love, 

An eternal embargo declare, 
I'll never evade it, by Jove ! 

Nor traffic in contraband ware. 



AMATORY. 67 

THE GAMUT. 

Air — Of a' the airts the mnd can blaw. 

The demon care constraint to smile, 

When matchless Ida sings, 
Repents that he my lyre should spoil, 

And gives me back its strings ; 
So Orpheus' lay, (as poets dream'd) 

With like resistless spell, 
Subdu'd the Fates, and thus redeem'd 

Eurydice from hell. 

Once more I'll tune this shell so dear, 

And stretch its wires again, 
Till A awake with accents clear, 

And breathing B complain. 
The C shall sound serene and free, 

The D with danger toy, 
While fiery wild erratic E, 

Shall light the torch of joy. 

The F give love and feeling scope, 

But G with grief shall wail, 
For H, the aspirate of hope, 

Comes not within the scale. 
'Tis done ! — my lyre shall wake again, 

While lovely Ida sings, 
For 'twas her sweet resistless strain 

Redeem'd the minstrel's strings. 



68 MELODIE> 

TO HAHF.IET. 

Air— Kate of Aberdeen. 

\ own I chid the plaintive strain, 

Nor wish'd the muse to weep ; 
But I recall a thought so vain, 

If Harriet's lyre must sleep. 
What though its tones are sorrow's sighs, 

'Tis bliss those tones to hear; 
And should they drown the listener's eyes, 

They still would charm his ear. 

» 
Then, Harriet, tune thy " simple lyre," 

And sing of blessings fled, 
While s\ich extatic joys its wire 

On other hearts can shed. 
Yes, still with sorrow's lay alarm. 

Be Pensero:sa still, 
For if thy tones of grief thus charm, 

Thy notes of joy would kill. 



TO Iff. 

And may I hope ? thou kind one, oh ! 

Can joy so great be mine? 
I'd pass a thousand years of wo, 
Nor think the minutes travell'd slow, 

Might T, at last, be thine. 



AMATORY. 60 

And may I hope ? — What rapture waits 

On that auspicious word ! 
Now do your worst, ye envious fates, 
The sentence which my soul elates, 

Attesting angels heard. 

And may I hope ? — Then I am blest, 

That word expels despair, 
Removes each sorrow from my breast, 
With every doubt that dare molest, 

And plants an Eden there. 

And may I hope ? — Then fancy may 

Foretaste the nuptial kiss, 
In promised rapture revel gay, 
An antepast of that sweet day, 

Which consummates my bliss 



TO ZOHAYDA. 

Ah, why, sweet minstrel ! why wish me to soar 
Beyond the limits of my humble sphere ? 

Why bid me ape the thunder's awful roar, 
And swell the train in madd'ning war's career? 

Forbear, dear girl ! to urge the strange request, 
I cannot rouse my milky heart to rage ; 

Then let me lull the timorous bird to rest, 
Or feel it dance with pleasure in its cage. 



70 MELODIES. 

TO CAROLINE. 

Tho' thousand gems, of dazzling ray, 
Will glow and sparkle through the day, 
The diamond only has the power 
To shine in midnight's darkest hour. 
So hearts that bask in beauty's smile, 
With borrowed ray may glow awhile, 
But mine, dear girl, is warm and bright, 
Tho' absence shroud the gem in night. 

Yes, absence is affection's test, 
I feel the truth within my breast, 
For every hour and every mile, 
That bars me from thy cheering smile, 
Imparts new ardour to the flame, 
That warms and animates my frame ; 
But ere it too intensely burn, 
In pity, love, return !— return. 



WE ARE ONE. 

Air — From thee, Eliza, I must go. 

Oh. we are one, and who presumes 

To sever hearts like ours, 
Would scatter frosts where Eden blooms. 

And wither all its flowers : 



AMATORY. 71 

But should no bands unite our hands, 

Till weary life be done, 
The ties whi m join this heart to thine, 

Will ever make us one. 

Yes, pride and rank may sever hands, 

But cannot change the heart, 
Nor polar snows, nor Afric's sands, 

Congenial spirits part. 
Our souls shall meet, in union sweet, 

Tho' seas between us run, 
Till pride relents, and fate consents* 

To make us truly one. 



RETURNING HOME. 

No longer shall fortune be whelm' d with invective. 
If my journey the goddess but bless with her smile ; 

I heed not its length, while I view in perspective 
The sharer, rewarder, and end of my toil. 

Ah ! still on my vision the object increases ! 

The cottage of peace and affection I spy ! 
Hope smiles, as my bosom, unconscious, releases 

The murmur of wishes respired in a sigh. 

Now, now I am blest ! — But, ah ! language it fails me, 
No pencil can paint love's ecstatic alarms : 

'Tis she that approaches — 'tis Catharine hails me, 
She gazes ! she smiles ! — T am press*d in her arms. 




JUV.SunrVe Bel 



BAN KMJTPTVY O F 'I'HK MTBAMT 



/W< 73 



MELODIES 



III.-SENTIMEITTAI, AND CONVIVIAL, 



BANKRUPTCY OF THE HEART. 

Air — Erin go Bragh. 

Let infamy cover the dastard, that meanly 

Can sport with the peace of an innocent maid, 
For there is no pang which the heart feels so keenly 

As finding its confidence basely betray'd. 
No power can retrieve such a wide desolation, 
As spreads o'er the face of the mental creation, 
When once a sincere trusting heart's adoration 
Has been with a cold-blooded treason repaid. 

For woman, dear woman, ne'er traffics by measure, 

But risks her whole heart, without counting the cost; 
And if the dear youth whom she trusts with the treasure 

Be shipwreck'd, or faithless, her capital's lost. 
For all she was worth, was her stock of affection, 
And bankruptcy follows, with sad retrospection, 
And nothing can ever remove the dejection 
That preys on a bosom whose prospects are cross'd. 

7 



74 MELODIES. 

A NUPTIAL SONG. 

Air — The Banks of the Devon. 

O blest is the festival hallow'd by duty, 

The banquet which Hymen and Cupid supply, 
The goblet which borrows new lustre from beauty, 

Its tint from her lip, and its light from her eye. 
Then join in our revels, partake of our pleasures, 

For Hymen and Love here in union preside, 
While music awakens her light-footed measures, 

To welcome the guests, and to honour the bride. 

While a spot in the desert of life is thus blooming, 

And soft sighs of rapture are fanning its bowers, 
While the sunbeams of mirth are its vistas illuming, 

And bright tears of ecstacy water the flowers — 
O join in our revels, partake of our pleasures, 

For Hymen and Love here in union preside, 
While music awakens her light-footed measures, 

To welcome the guests, and to honour the bride. 

Long life to their pleasures, till raptures supernal, 

Immortal as truth, in their bosoms shall rise, 
For the bliss of true conjugal love is eternal, 

It blossoms on earth but to bloom in the skies. 
Then join in our revels, partake of our pleasures, 

For Hymen and Love here in union preside, 
While music awakens her light-footed measures, 

To welcome the guests, and to honour the bride. 



SENTIMENTAL. 75 

THE WIDOWED IVY. 

Music by Swindells. 

I mark'd of late, in verdant pride, 

The ivy, fondly clinging 
To the tall oak's majestic side, 
On whose green branches, spreading wide, 

A woodland choir was singing. 
But soon was hush'd the sylvan lay, 

The lightning's bolt invaded ; 
The oak was shiver' d in the fray, 
The widow'd ivy lost its stay, 

And all its verdure faded. 

'Tis thus the fond confiding heart 

On manly faith reposes, 
While the sweet smiles of Hope impart 
Such hues to life's prospective chart 
♦ As deck the scene in roses. 
But, ah ! such sweets too soon decay, 

By sorrow's storm invaded ; 
If faithless man our hopes betray, 
The widow'd heart will lose its stay, 
And all its joys be faded. 

e shuts her windows — let me now advance 
;o where the viol leads the mazy dance ; 
Where pleasure warms the heart and lights the eye, 
While bounding pulses to the music fly. 



76 MELODIES. 

CHRISTMAS GAMBOLS. 

Air — Songs of shepherds, in rustical roundelays. 

Hail ! the season of joy and festivity, 

Social pleasures and innocent mirth, 
Consecrated by Mercy's Nativity, 

Bliss angelical granted to earth: 
Tempests of winter the forests may splinter, 

But never can stint or embitter our cheer, 
While love's soft wishes still sweeten our dishes 

On merry Christmas and happy New Year. 

Hark ! the merry bells, chiming from Trinity : 

Charm the ear with their musical din, 
Telling all, throughout the vicinity, 

Holiday gambols are now to begin : 
Friends and relations, with fond salutations, 

And warm gratulations, together appear ; 
While lovers and misses, with holiday kisses, 

Greet merry Christmas and happy New Year. 

Gratitude, united with piety, 

Bids each bosom with rapture to glow, 
Pleasures, temper'd with cheerful sobriety, 

" Light up smiles in the aspect of wo:" 
Sires and mothers, meet sisters and brothers, 

And mingle with others, in festival cheer ; 
And friends, long parted, assemble, light-hearted, 

On merry Christmas and happy New Year. 



SENTIMENTAL. 77 

Now commences the infantile revelry, 

Happy urchins the story believe, 
That Santaclaus, since ages of chivalry, 

Visits the nursery on holiday eve. 
Socks, intended for gifts, are suspended, 

And mystic rites blended, the fancy to cheer, 
While sweet snap-dragon, exhausts the full flagon, 

Each merry Christmas and happy New Year. 

Then hail ! the season of joy and festivity, 

Social pleasures, and innocent mirth, 
Which smooths the path of age's declivity, 

And gives to infancy Eden on earth ; 
When Plenty, her treasure bestows without measure. 

And innocent Pleasure pursues her career ; 
While Love's soft wishes still sweeten our dishes, 

On merry Christmas and happy New Year. 



SPRING AND AUTUMN 

How pleasing, how lovely appears 
Sweet infancy, sportive and gay ; 

Its prattle, its smiles, and its tears, 
Like spring, or the dawning of day ! 

But manhood's the season design'd 
For wisdom, for works, and for use ; 

To ripen the fruits of the mind, 
Which the seeds sown in childhood produce. 

7* 



78 MELODIES. 

LAND'S END. 

Air — The Light-house. 

The gale was propitious, all canvass was spread, 

As swift thro' the water we glided, 
The tear-drop yet glisten' d which friendship had shed, 

Tho' the pang whence it sprang had subsided. 
Fast faded in distance each object we knew, 

As the shores which we loved were retiring, 
And the last grateful object which linger' d in view, 

Was the beacon on land's end aspiring. 

Ah ! here, I exclaim' d, is an emblem of life, 

For 'tis but a turbulent ocean, 
Where passion with reason is ever at strife, 

While our frail little barks are in motion. 
The haven of infancy, calm and serene, 

We leave in the distance retiring, 
While memory lingers, to gaze on some scene, 

Like the beacon on land's end aspiring. 

O may I be careful to steer by that chart 

Which Wisdom in mercy has given, 
And true, like the needle, this tremulous heart 

Be constantly pointing to heaven ; 
Thus safely with tempests and billows I'll cope, 

And find (when at last they're subsiding) 
On the land's end of life is a beacon of hope, 

To the harbour of happiness guiding. 



SENTIMENTAL. 79 

THE TEAR OF GRATITUDE. 

Air — The Soldier's Gratitude. 

There is a gem more pearly bright, 

More dear to Mercy's eye, 
That love's sweet star, whose mellow light 

First cheers the evening sky ; 
A liquid pearl, that glitters where 

No sorrows now intrude, 
A richer gem than monarchs wear, 

The tear of gratitude. 

But ne'er shall narrow love of self, 

Invite this tribute forth, 
Nor can the sordid slave of pelf 

Appreciate its worth; 
But ye who sooth the widow's wo, 

And give the orphan food, 
For you this liquid pearl shall flow, 

The tear of gratitude. 

Ye, who but slake an infant's thirst, 

In Heavenly Mercy's name, 
Or proffer penury a crust, 

The sweet reward can claim. 
Then as ye rove life's suimy banks, 

With sweetest flowerets strew'd, 
Still may you claim the widow's thanks, 

The orphan's gratitude. 



SO MELODIES. 

WHEN EYES ARE BRIGHT. 
A Sicilian Air. 

When eyes are bright with pleasure, 
And brows with wreaths are crown' d, 

To music's sweetest measure 
The heart shall gaily bound. 

While pallid care forgets to call, 
And smiling beauty lights the hall, 
Devote to bliss the present hour, 
Perhaps the next may darkly lower. 
When eyes are bright with pleasure, 

And brows with wreaths are crown'd, 
To music's sweetest measure 

The heart shall gaily bound. 

This life were but a dreary scene, 
Without such little spots of green ; 
But every joy like this to taste, 
Imparts new strength to tread the waste. 
When eyes are bright with pleasure, 

And brows with wreaths are crown'd, 
To music's sweetest measure 

The heart shall gaily bound. 

Such pleasures leave no sting behind, 
But sweetly elevate the mind, 
'Till every heart, with generous glow, 
Is blest to see its neighbour so. 



SENTIMENTAL. 81 

When eyes are bright with pleasure, 
And brows with wreaths are crown'd, 

To music's sweetest measure 
The heart shall gaily bound. 



NOW AMITY, HOPE, AND PLEASURE. 
An Italian Air. 

Now amity, hope, and pleasure, 
Smile placidly, kiss, and toy, 

While trippingly dance in measure, 
Love, liberty, peace, and joy. 

Night's ebony car descending, 

Rolls rapidly down the sky, 
While numerous sylphs attending, 

Show revelry's hour is nigh. 
Now amity, hope, and pleasure, 

Smile placidly, kiss, and toy, 
While trippingly dance in measure, 

Love, liberty, peace, and joy. 

Late dismally pining daily, 
Hearts languidly sunk in wo, 

Now merrily bounding gaily, 
All playfully throb and glow. 

Now amity, hope, and pleasure, 
Smile placidly, kiss and toy, 

While trippingly dance in measure, &c. 



82 MELODIES. 

TO ADELAIDE FELICITY. 

Supposed to express the feelings of her Father, on her 
return from the West Indies. 

Before thy infant lips could frame, 
With lisping tone, a parent's name ; 
When first a smile of playful grace 
Was seen upon thy cherub face ; 
While dandled on thy mother's knee — 
Think'st thou that smile was dear to me? 
'Twas, Adelaide — Felicity. 

When thou, at last, couldst run alone, 
And lisp our names with dulcet tone ; 
And like the lamb, in frolic play, 
Didst wile the laughing hours away ; 
Thy father's bosom throbb'd with glee, 
While love maternal guarded thee, 
'Twas, Adelaide — Felicity. 

But ah ! how faint a joy was this, 
Compared with our superior bliss, 
When, budding in the spring of youth, 
Replete with virtue, love, and truth, 
And every grace we wish'd to see, 
Thy doting parents gazed on thee — 
'Twas, Adelaide — Felicity. 

And when with cultivated mind, 
By knowledge stored, by art refined, 



SENTIMENTAL. 83 

Thy faithful heart, thy hand, thy will, 
Were pledged to one who holds them still, 
One who is worthy even thee, 
What think you, owed the youth to me ? 
'Twas, Adelaide — Felicity. 

And now, thy lengthened absence o'er, 

I hold thee in my arms once more, 

And kiss the pearls of joy away, 

And see the smiles of rapture play 

About the lips from sorrow free, 

What, thinkst thou, calls this tear from me? 

Tis, Adelaide — Felicity. 



A GLEE. 

Air — To all you ladies now at land. 
* ■ 

Let politicians rail and fight, 

For president or king, 
We care not which is wrong or right, 

But gaily drink and sing. 
The only party we would join, 
Is that of woman, wit, and wine. 
Then we'll push about the bowl, my boys, 
Then we'll push about the bowl, 
To exhilirate the soul, 
And heighten our convivial joys. 



84 MELODIES. 

TO GEORGE. 

Nay, ask me not for wit or rhyme, 
While this blue-devil weather lasts, 

The muses shun Columbia's clime 
During the equinoctial blasts. 

Their native home is most serene, 

Where bright and cloudless skies are certain, 
A mountain's-top— as you have seen 

At Chatham Garden, on the curtain. 

» They'll not exchange a scene so fair, 
Their verdant walks and rural sweets 
To shiver in this misty air, 
And wade along our muddy streets. 

Then let them still enjoy their revels, 
Remote from fiends of every hue, 

For though they smile on some poor devils 9 
They never could abide the blue. 

In July last, so hot and dry, 

When some expired for want of brandy, 
When not a cloud obscured the sky, 

And fans were worn by every dandy : 

Then would they come, and round my taper. 

En dishabille, inspire me so, 
That, though my sweat bedew'd the paper, 

I wrote some melting lines, you know. 



SENTIMENTAL. 85 



But ask me not for wit or rhyme, 
While this blue-devil weather lasts, 

The muses shun Columbia's clime, 
During the equinoctial blasts. 



TO SARAH. 

I ask'd the muse to breathe a name 
Which Mercy loved the dearest ; 

The brightest on the roll of fame, 
To perfect worth the nearest ; 

Whose heart would bleed, but never shrink, 
When gloom and danger lower'd, 

Who dared destruction's awful brink, 

To save the wretch about to sink- 
She smiled and whisper'd — " Howard." 

I ask'd her then to name a fair, 

Whose thousand traits of beauty, 
Derive the sweetest grace they wear 

From virtue, love, and duty : 
Who, when her parents helpless lay, 

By fell disease o'erpower'd, 
With tearless, sleepless eye, would stay 
To watch their couches, night and day, 
The pangs of sickness to allay — 

The muse still whisper'd — " Howard." 



MELODIES. 

THE KALEIDESCOPE. 

Air — Just like Love, 

Just like Hope, this magic toy 
Shows a thousand forms of joy. 
Of richest shape and sweetest hue, 
For ever varying — ever new, 
Just like Hope. 

Innocence, a playful child, 
Raised the tube, and look'd, and smiled, 
And still he gazed, with rapture wild, 
For every change his heart beguiled, 
Just like Hope. 

Sage Experience chanced to pass, 
Seized the toy, and broke the glass, 
And soon convinced the weeping boy 
How false was his illusive joy, 
Just like Hope. 

Still the silly child believed 
That his loss would be retrieved, 
Another tried, and still he grieved, 
For every flattering tube deceived, 
Just like Hope. 

Just like Hope, this magic toy 
Shows a thousand forms of joy, &c. 



SENTIMENTAL. 87 

THE IMPRISONED DEBTOR. 

The slave inhales the morning healthful breeze, 
And gambols gaily o'er the verdant plain ; 

But ah ! the debtor tastes no joys like these, 
But breathes the fetid atmosphere of pain. 

The slave has friends — a wife and children dear, 
Whose fond caresses every grief dispel ; 

But ah ! no friend — no wife or child is near, 
To bless the debtor's solitary cell. 

Near the sad couch on which his Emma weeps, 
Her sickly fancy paints his wasting frame ; 

And from the cradle where her infant sleeps, 
Unconscious lips pronounce a father's name. 

Alas, poor babe ! thy father hears thee not ; 

In the cold jail his lonely lamp he trims, 
To wake and muse upon our hapless lot, 

The chains of ( avarice clanking on his limbs. 

But though, my child, our eyes dissolve in showers, 
Our cheeks are strangers to the blush of shame, 

For oh ! one boast, one legacy is ours — 
His spotless honour and unblemished fame. 



Unfeeling, cruel, and remorseless souls ! 
Ye, who on Sunday still profanely pray — 
" Forgive our debts, as we, O Lord, forgive 
Our debtors !" — may the letter of your prayers 
Remain unanswered — for 'tis death ye ask ! 



88 MELODIES. 

THE FLOWERS OF LIFE. 

In the journey of life, let us scorn to complain of 
The trifling impediments found in the road ; 

The worst 1 encounter I laugh at the pain of, 
For sweet-smiling cheerfulness lightens the load. 

If I find not a rose, I indulge not in sorrow, 
But pluck with contentment a daisy to-day ; 

Nay, even a sprig will feed hope for to-morrow, 
The humblest that nods to the zephyrs of May. 

Let others dispute, I'll avoid their dissention, 

Religious, political, moral, or such ; 
For the lily of peace thus escapes their attention, 

The sweet bud of pleasure which blooms at my touch, 

The blossoms of friendship, surviving mortality, 
I'll carefully cherish and wear in my breast ; 

Tho' its picture may boast brighter hues than reality, 
Its fragrance directs me, when doubtful the test. 

The spirit of feeling, the soul of affection, 
Wildly ardent in rapture, and melting in wo, 

Whatever its image, attire, or complexion, 

With mine shall commingle in sympathy's glow. 

I ask not his birth-place, whatever the region, 
Hot, temperate, frigid — despotic or free; 

I ask not his politics, creed or religion, 
A Turk, Jew, or Christian — he's still dear to me 



SENTIMENTAL. 8$ 

But ah ! there's a flower, which, teeming with nectar, 
Beneath its fair aspect screen's misery's dart, 

So artfully veil'd that it mocks a detecter, 
Till, press'd to the bosom, it pierces the heart. 

But still, to a bosom susceptibly placid, 

The anguish of love will but heighten the joy; 

As the bev'rage uniting a sweet with an acid, 
Is grateful, when nectar untemper'd would cloy. 

The bramble of avarice others may nourish, 

Exhausting life's soil of its virtues and strength; 

I'll stray where the plants of beneficence flourish, 
And the generous vine winds its serpentine length. 

Let misers pursue their mean sordid employment, 
And hoard up their treasures for life's latest scenes ; 

I'll waste not the moments allow'd for enjoyment, 
Nor squander the season in gaining the means. 

Our object is happiness — ne'er could we miss it, 
In life's varied path, if the talent were ours 

From all we encounter some good to elicit, 
As bees gather sweets from the meanest of flowers. 

Then pluck every blossom of happiness blooming; 

Leave birds of contention, and play with the dove ; 
And our path, soon the flush of enchantment assuming, 

Will glow, an elysium of pleasure and love. 



8* 



00 MELODIES. 

EDWIN DELISLE. 

Air — Dark Loch-na-gar. 

The battle was ended, whose direful commotion 

Gave tyrants the victims unclaim'd by the wave, 
And the last ray of Phoebus illumin'd the ocean, 

As it shot o'er the land of the ill-fated brave. 
The western breeze wafted the ship o'er the main, 

Far, far from their country and liberty's smile ; 
Each captive enshackled with tyranny's chain, 

The noblest of whom was young Edwin Delisle. 

Apart from his comrades, his manly breast bleeding 

With anguish too piercing for nature to bear, 
Distracted he view'd his dear country receding, 

And bade it adieu in a tone of despair : 
" O region of happiness, freedom and peace ! 

Columbia, adieu! not for Edwin you smile, 
For soon, with his sorrows, existence must cease, 

For rent is the heart of poor Edwin Delisle. 

" Eliza ! my angel ! fate dooms us to sever, 

Tho' brought to the climate that fosters thy charms ; 
In sight of my country, I lose it for ever, 

In view of my love, I am torn from her arms ! 
Three times have the seasons their circle fulfill'd, 

Since Edwin was blest with affection's sweet smile, 
Since, press'd to his bosom, Eliza he held. 

As she sigh'd a farewell to her Edwin Delisle. 



SENTIMENTAL. Ot 

" Three years shall restore me, I cried, as we parted ; 

The term has expir'd, and my eyes caught the shore ; 
Hope flatter'd, then left to despair, broken-hearted, 

The wretch for whom freedom and joy are no more. 
The shadows of eve shroud thy land from my view, 

But ah! there's another where joys ever smile! 
God of mercy, forgive me! — Eliza, adieu!" 

He plung'd — and the waves cover'd Edwin Delisle. 



A FAIR VOCALIST. 

" What nymph," ask'd Apollo, " will deign for awhile, 
Which one of the nine, will repair to the isle 
Where virtue, and learning, and genius, and taste, 
Have chang'd to an Eden Manhattan's rude waste? 
The science of Philipps no longer can charm, 
The sweetness of Incledon ceases to warm, 
And the eager inhabitants look to the nine 
For something superior — something divine ?" 
" For something divine !" sage Minerva exclaim'd, 
" Their wish has been realized ere it was named ; 
The sweetest of voices and faces unite 
Their ears, and their eyes, and their hearts, to delight ; 
For the muses, and graces, and Pallas, have joined 
To embellish her person, and polish her mind. 
From sirens she pilfer'd each tone that entrances, 
From Cupid her dimples, from Venus her glances; 
Thus enrich'd by celestials with sweetness and worth, 
She charms, in the person of Holman, on earth. 



92 MELODIES. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

What power can prop a sinking soul, 

Oppress' d with woes and sick of grief, 
Bid the warm tear forbear to roll, 
Despair's heart-rending sigh control, 
And whisper sweet relief ? 

Friendship ! sweet balm for sorrow's smart, 
In thee the soothing power is found, 

To heal the lacerated heart, 

Extract affliction's venom'd dart, 
And close the bleeding wound. 

When pierc'd by grief's chill tempest through, 

The tendril bends beneath its power, 
Thou canst the broken plant renew : 
Thy sacred tear, like heavenly dew, 
Revives the drooping flower. 

If fortune frown — if health depart, 
Or death divide the tenderest tie, 

Friendship can raise the sinking heart, 

A glow of real joy impart, 
And wipe the tearful eye. 

If foes without attack our name, 

Or foes within assault our peace, 
Then friendship's pure celestial flame 
Can sooth the mind — defend our fame, 
And bid assailants cease. 



SENTIMENTAL. 93 

Come, then, sweet power, of source divine, 

For ever glow within my breast ; 
My earliest friend be ever mine, 
One link our hearts in union join, 

To make each other blest. 



HIBERNIA'S TEARS. 
Music by Gilfert — Published by E. Riley* 

Hibernia's tears for ever flow, 

Her harp in silence slumbers ; 
Her bards the patriot song forego, 

Nor dare to breathe its numbers. 
No more they bid the swelling tone 

In freedom's cause awaken ; 
Those happy days of bliss are flown, 

And Erin weeps, forsaken ! 

But though her sons in exile roam, 

They sleep on freedom's pillow ; 
And Erin's daughters find a home 

Beyond the western billow. 
There shall they breathe the glowing strain, 

To joy's ecstatic numbers ; 
There Erin's harp shall wake again, 

In rapture, from its slumbers. 



94 MELODIES. 



CALUMNY. 



Ah, what avails the shield of truth, 
The charm of virtue, beauty, youth, 
Against that fiend deform'd, uncouth, 

Whose wounds no lenient balm can close ? 
Assail'd by Slander's venom'd tooth, 
The sensate mind must droop, forsooth, 

And wither like a canker'd rose. 
Yes, they who ever felt the pang 
Of Calumny's inveterate fang, 
Must own that minstrel never sang, 
Of all the woes from guilt that sprang, 

Of deeper, dreader, deadlier foes. 

O thou, who hast been thus betray'd 
By secret foes, in ambush laid, 
To plot and stab beneath the shade ; 
Whose viewless shafts have mock'd the aid 
Of Virtue's buckler to evade 

The cruel, pointed, venom'd barb — 
Know, hapless wretch ! whoe'er thou be, 
There is between thyself and me 
A sighing chord of sympathy ; 
For I have also felt, like thee, 
The cureless wounds of Calumny, 
Who kiss'd and stabb'd — for he — for he 

Had stolen honest Friendship's garb. 

But what, alas, avails complaint ? 
Be man more holy than a saint, 



SENTIMENTAL. 95 

Be lovely woman " chaste as snow 
And pure as ice," they still must know 
The keenest pang of human wo, 

The rankling wound of Calumny. 
But hear a Saviour's accents mild, 
" The persecuted and reviled 

" Are blessed," saith the Lord. 
Then still, in conscious virtue clad, 
" Rejoice, and be exceeding glad, 

" For great is your reward." 



O TRUST NOT HOPE. 

O trust not faithless Hope too far, 

Lest disappointment's venom'd dart 
Should all thy fairest prospects mar, 

And lacerate thy constant heart ; 
For I have trusted in her smile, 

Nor heard the distant thunder roll, 
Nor saw the cloud approach the while, 

Whose lightnings since have pierced my soul. 

O trust not then the smile of hope, 

A hurricane succeeds the calm, 
E'en while we stroll some verdant slope 

Where flow'rets freight the breeze with balm- 
Ere we can say " the scene is sweet," 

'Tis blasted by some demon's breath ; 
Then trust not, trust not, I entreat, 

The treacherous smile that lures to death. 



MELODIES. 

FEMALE ORNAMENTS. 

Imitated from the French, 

All hues become a pretty face, 
For beauty needs no foreign grace ; 
A flower, or any thing, in truth, 
Will ornament the brow of youth, 
While sparkling gems may vainly shine 
Where age and ugliness combine. 

O then, be wise, ye gentle fair, 
And all the ornaments you wear 
From taste, instead of wealth, obtain, 
Nor longer court your glass in vain. 

The Prize of Beauty (once decreed, 
To Paphian Venus, as we read) 
Was not awarded to the fair 
For any brilliants in her hair. 

No, 'twas her native charms acquired 
The prize her rivals so desired ; 
Her face, her neck, her bosom, waist, 
Her easy negligence and taste, 
Her attitude, her hair, her eyes — 
With these the goddess won the prize. 

O then, ye fair, who seek to please, 
Cherish simplicity and ease ; 



SENTIMENTAL. 8* 

With -nodest taste, give no occasion 
To quote Apelles' observation.* 
Remember, that a grace denied, 
Was by a bauble ne'er supplied. 



THY RUBY LIPS MUST KISS THE BRIM. 
Air — Kate of Aberdeen, 

Thy ruby lips must kiss the brim 

Before I drain the cup, 
Its lustre else will be too dim 

To light my spirits up. 
Nay, taste, my love — its purple hue 

W 11 brighter paint thy lip ; 
Thin* 1 eye will gain new lustre too, 

Thy soul new ardour — sip ! 

If rosy wine have power to cheer 

The regents of the sky,f 
It sure will chase away the tear 

That dims an angel's eye. 
Then taste, my love — its purple hue 

Will brighter dye thy lip ; 
Thine eye will gain new lustre too, 

Thy soul new ardour — sip ! 

* An ignorant painter having decorated the portrait of Helen with trinkets, 
Applies observed, that the picture was " rich in ornament, but poor in beau- 
ty," and that the " artist had embellished her with jewrts, because he had 
not abilities to paint her beautifuU ' 

I This idea smacks of Paganism , but I dare not avail myself of ^higher 
authority in a convivial song, or I would refer to him who said that wine 
cheereth God and man." 



98 MELODIES. 

THE DEAF AND DUMB 

Air — There's nothing true but Heaven. 

The ills which call for pity's tear, 

Were all in mercy given ; 
The fetter'd tongue, obstructed ear, 
And every wo we suffer here. 

Invite us back to Heaven. 

But he who binds the bleeding heart 

By sorrow's tempest riven, 
Whose kindness dries the tears that start, 
Performs a man's, an angel's part, 

And aids the plan of Heaven. 

Then see the tear from misery's cheek, 

By love and genius driven ! 
Behold ! they gain the end they seek I 
The deaf can hear ! the dumb can speak ! 

And praise approving Heaven. 

And now a bright and glorious morn 

Succeeds a dusky even ; 
The dazzled soul, but newly born, 
In wonder lost, salutes the dawn. 

And hails the sun of heaven. 

The Muse no more in foreign climes shall roam, 
While we've such scenes and incidents at home. 



SENTIMENTAL, 99 

BEAUTY. 

Imitated from the French, 

Beauty, sweet mysterious power, 

Secret spring of all that moves, 
Goddess of the Paphian bower, 

Mother of the infant loves ; 

Which can make the wicked good, 

Savage sentiments abolish, 
Melt the hard, refine the rude, 

Teach the clown a courtier's polish ; 

Which can make the simple wise, 

Or deprive the wise of reason ; 
Bid the statesman sink or rise, 

Urge to loyalty or treason : — 

Now exciting modest fear, 

Now with lawless rudeness firing; 

Prompting to be faithless here, 
There with constancy inspiring. 

'Tis the power that banes or blesses ; 

Where shall we its image find ? 
'Tis the nymph whose eye expresses 

Charms belonging to the mind. 



We to the fair evince a true affection 

By pointing out such faults as need correction. 



100 MELODIES. 

THE MINSTREL. 
Air — Of a 9 the airts the wind can blaw. 

How happy is the minstrel's lot, 

Whose song each care beguiles ; 
The frowns of fortune fright him not, 

Nor does he court her smiles. 
Contented with his tuneful lyre, 

His art can yield the rest ; 
He pours his soul along the wire, 

And rapture fires his breast. 

He envies not the power of kings, 

With all their glittering toys ; 
The tones that warble from his strings 

Impart sublimer joys. 
He builds a world of airy bliss, 

Where love erects his throne ; 
And though his fancy frame the kiss, 

Its sweets are all his own. 

What though no wealth his song repays, 

Nor laurels deck his lyre ; 
The glow he catches from its lays 

Is bliss supremely higher. 
What though his fairy pleasures seem 

Illusion's shapeless toys — 
He would not lose so sweet a dream 

For all your waking joys. 



SENTIMENTAL. 101 



A DUET. 



Both Now the torch of rapture burns, 

Sorrows fly, and joy returns; 
Hope, in blushing garlands drest, 
Comes again, a welcome guest. 

She So the gloomy shades of night 

He Fade before the dawn of light ; 

She Till Aurora's blushing ray 

Both Kindle darkness into day. 



CONFIDING WOMAN. 

Confiding woman yields her heart 

Without a reservation, 
While man can only love by art, 

And sordid calculation. 

No earthly ill can him annoy, 
But she would gladly bear it, 

Nor has the world for her a joy, 
Unless her lover share it. 



Clear and transparent, like a crystal vase, 
The female mind its real worth displays ; 
Whether its hue our praise or censure win, 
It takes its colour from the stores within. 

9* 



102 MELODIES. 

WILLIAM'S PROMOTION. 

Air — Paddy Carey, 

The drum had ceas'd, the bugle slept, 

The sentry march'd with footsteps wary, 
When ditch and picket William leapt. 

Eager to see his wedded Mary. 
But ah ! his colonel, just before, 

On her defenceless state presuming, 
Had entered Mary's cottage door, 

The husband's voice and dress assuming. 
Soft and sly, Mary fled; William's eye sooth'd her dread. 

"Ills infernal seize the colonel!" 
Cried he, unwary. 
But Mary suggested, that he be arrested, 

And as a deserter to camp return' d ; 

And W r illiam, who with resentment burn'd, 
Commends the thought, and soon is brought 
A brisk sergeant's guard ; the colonel pleads hard, 

But his disguise deceives all eyes ; 

He swears and cries, while none replies ; 
Safely guarded, not retarded, 
William sees him borne from Mary ; 

Faithful Mary, beautiful Mary, 
Dear little, sweet little, constant Mary 

The morning came, the reveille beat, 
The troops paraded bright and airy, 

And there, in regimentals neat, 

William had brought his lovely Mary. 



SENTIMENTAL. 103 

The colonel, now restored to rank, 

Around on milk-white charger prances, 
Until his eye, upon the flank, 

Is caught by blushing Mary's glances. 
Soon he asks, who was mad, to enlist such a lad ; 
William ready, answered steady, 
Bright, brisk, and airy : 
" The youth I recruited, I hope you are suited, 
For though he is young, and tender, and light, 
He took a deserter, sir, last night, 
Though dark and damp, some way from camp 
The villain was caught, and hither brought, 
In deep disguise." The colonel's eyes 
Betray surprise — at length he cries, 
* ' Be it noted — you're promoted 
Ensign — ever guard your Mary ; 
Faithful Mary, beautiful Mary, 
Dear little, sweet little, constant Mary." 



FASHION. 

To tyrant Fashion all must yield, 

He rules with sway despotic, 
And he who dares contest the field, 

Must be indeed Quixotic. 
But though, when he appears, we must, 

Like courteous slaves, receive him ; 
The wise will ne'er embrace him Jirst, 

Nor be the last to leave him. 



104 MELODIES. 

RIGHTS OF WOMAN* 

Air — Fill the bumper, fair. 

While each freeman's son 

Boasts of rights in plenty, 
Daughters have but one, 

E'en at one-and-twenty : 
'Tis the right to choose 

Whom we mean to marry, 
And, at once, refuse 

Tom, or Dick, or Harry ; 
'Tis our charter d right, 

Nature's hand has penn'd it, 
Let us then unite 

Bravely to defend it. 

While our fathers fought 

For our independence, 
Patriot mothers taught 

This to their descendants : — 
Daughters guard and save 

Rights too dear to barter, 
Spurn the name of slave, 

Freedom is your charter. 
You've the right to choose 

Whom you mean to marry, 
Whom you will refuse, 

Tom, or Dick, or Harry. 

• As sung in the play of th« " Dfed of Gift. ' 



SENTIMENTAL. 105 

Men may boast the bliss 

Of a. free election, 
Women ask but this, 

Uncontrolled affection ; 
Then we cheerly say, 

Tutor'd by the pastor, 
" Honour, love, obey," 

To our lord and master. 
Daughters, guard and save 

Rights too dear to barter, 
Spurn the name of slave, 

Freedom is our charter. 

There's a claim more strong 

Than a sire's or brother's ; 
If they think us wrong, 

Let them ask our mothers : 
When they play'd their parts, 

Urged by love and beauty, 
With their hands and hearts 

They transferr'd their duty. 
'Tis our charter'd right, 

Nature's hand has penn'd it, 
Let us then unite 

Bravely to defend it. 



FRIENDSHIP. 
From this bright source a stream of blessings flows, 
To more than balance all Pandora's woes. 



£06 MELODIES. 

THE WATBUMAN. 

From a Manuscript Play. 

Let philosophers boast of their learning and skill, 

And tell us what sages have thought o' men ; 
It yet is a fact, sirs, deny it who will, 

Human nature's the study for watermen 
For ours is the talent to soon put afloat 
All ages, professions, and sizes ; 
From the sweep's sooty rug to the gaudy laced coat, 
As the grade to the general rises. 
While we row, 
To and fro, 
One way look, the other go. 

Our boats convey from shore to shore, 
The great, the small, the rich, the poor, 
The short, the tall, the fat, the lean, 
The fair, the brown, the brave, the mean ; 
The maid, the widow, wife, and mother, 
And some who're neither one nor 'tother. 
Thus ours is the talent, &c. 

There's querists, quibblers, quids and quakers, 
Butchers, brokers, brewers, bakers, 
Blacksmiths, boatmen, bailiffs, butlers, 
Cartmen, coopers, caulkers, cutlers, 
Drummers, drapers, drivellers, drovers, ; 

Riggers, ravers, ranters, rovers ; 



SENTIMENTAL. 107 

Farmers, fiddlers, fuddlers, furriers, 
Carvers, clothiers, clerks, and curriers ; 
Gownmen, grocers, gardeners, gilders, 
Bullies, bruisers, barbers, builders; 
Founders, framers, fools, refiners, 
Jurors, judges, jobbers, joiners ; 
Saddlers, sweepers, singers, sailors, 
Tanners, turners, tinkers, tailors ; 
Tenants, tyrants, truants, teachers, 
Poets, printers, painters, preachers. 
Thus ours is the talent, &c. 

Tobacconists, book-binders, stone-cutters, sawyers, 
With carpenters, constables, lovers, and lawyers ; 
Musicians, confectioners, vintners and glaziers, 
With inn-keepers, ink-makers, hatters, and braziers ; 
Auctioneers, and attorneys, with priests, and physicians, 
Engravers, designers, and scribbling magicians. 
Thus ours is the talent, &c. 

Shoe-makers, watch-makers, coach-makers, sail-maker% 
Rope-makers, chair-makers, pin-makers, pail-makers; 
With weighers, surveyors, 
Street inspectors, 
Bank directors ; 
The seller of jewels, 
And the fighter of duels. 
Thus ours is the talent to soon put afloat, 

All ages, professions, and sizes, 
From the sweep's sooty rug, &c. 



108 MELODIES 

THE NL EELE. 

The gay belles of fashion may boast of excelling 

In waltz or cotillion — at whist or quadrille ; 
And seek admiration by vauntingiy telling 

Of drawing, and painting, and musical skill; 
But give me the fair one, in country or city, 

Whose home and its duties are dear to her heart 
Who cheerfully warbles some rustical ditty, 

While plying the needle with exquisite art. 
The bright little needle — the swifl flying needle. 

The needle directed by beauty and art. 

If Love have a potent, a magical token, 

A talisman, ever esistless anu true — 
A charm that is never evaded or broken, 

A witchery certain the heart to subdue — 
5 Tis this — and his armoury never has furnish'd 

So keen and unerring, or polish'd a dart ; 
Let Beauty direct it, so pointed and burnish'd, 

And Oh ! it is certain of touching the heart, 

Be wise then, ye maidens, nor seek admiration 

By dressing for conquest, and flirting ivith all ; 
You never, whate'er be your fortune or station, 

Appear half so lovely at rout or at ball, 
As gaily convened at a work-covered table, 

Each cheerfully active and playing her part, 
Beguiling the task with a song or a fable, 

And plying the needle with exquisite art, 




- 



tme >• :\>\ V, ITLH , 



1*0,4 1 It 1 * 



MELODIES. 



IV...NATIONAL AND PATRIOTIC. 

WAR. 

Air — What the bee is to the floweret. 

Gentle Peace, on ruffled pinion, 

Flies from Freedom's injured realm; 

War extends his rough dominion, 
Vengeance nodding on his helm. 

Harshly sounds the trumpet's clamour, 
While our warriors leap to arms ; 

Beauty shrinks in fearful tremour, 
Snatching graces from alarms. 

Harsh to us the martial clarion, 
Who with peace and freedom blest, 

Bade the desert, drear and barren, 
Smile a garden in the west. 

Harsh to us, whose fair pretentions 
Ne'er infringed a nation's right, 

Who have tamely borne aggressions, 
Rather than engage in fight. 

10 



HO MELODIES. 

FREEDOM'S STAR. 

Air — God save the king. 

Hail, Star of Freedom, hail ! 
Whose splendour ne'er shall fail, 

In peace or war ; 
Long shall thy golden ray 
O'er these bless'd regions play, 
While millions own the sway 

Of Freedom's Star. 

Our sires, a pilgrim band, 
Who sought this promis'd land, 

From realms afar, 
Spurn'd fell oppression's sway, 
And dared the pathless way, 
Led by the golden ray 

Of Freedom's Star. 

Their sons, with kindred flame, 
Have earn'd an equal fame, 

In peace and war ; 
Determined to be free, 
Have fought by land and sea ; 
Led on to victory, 

By Freedom's Star. 

Beneath her temple's dome, 
Here wanderers find a home 



PATRIOTIC. Ill 



From realms afar ; 
Blest in their happy choice, 
Here will they long rejoice, 
And with united voice, 

Hail Freedom's Star. 



tes, yes, I GO. 

A Polacca — Music by Dames. 

" Yes, yes, I go" — he whispered soft, 

" In freedom's cause my sword to wield, 
" Columbia's banner waves aloft, 

" And glory calls me to the field." 
Then foremost on the foe he prest, 

While war's rude tempest wildly roar'd, 
Till gushing from the hero's breast 

The purple tide in torrents pour'd. 

He fell, and oh ! what fancies stole 
Through memory's vista, bright and warm, 

Till one loved image o'er his soul 
Came like an angel in the storm. 

But loudly swell'd the bugle's blast, 
His hand instinctive grasp'd the steel, 

Again it swell'd — but all was past, 

The warrior's breast had ceased to feel. 



112 MELODIES. 

FREEDOM'S CONSTELLATION. 

Air — Yankee-doodle, 

Glory gilds the western skies 

With bright irradiation, 
Where twenty brilliant stars arise, 

In Freedom's Constellation. 
See the glittering orbs revolve 

Around the sun of union ! 
And never shall the tie dissolve 

Which holds them in communion. 
This exalts Columbia's cause, 

And gilds her reputation ; 
This secures her earth's applause, 

And Heaven's approbation. 

Long shall live Columbia's name, 

In patriotic story, 
And long around her brow shall flame 

A bright unsullied glory. 
Virtue's panoply she wears, 

Her weapons truth and justice, 
The olive-branch her standard bears, 

In Heaven alone her trust is. 
This exalts Columbia's cause, &c. 

Mild religion's lucid ray 

Her glowing prospect brightens, 

And superstition shuns the day 
Which literature enlightens. 



PATRIOTIC. 113 

Charity's celestial flame 

Here sheds its mild effulgence, 
For every party, sect, and name, 

Enjoys the same indulgence. 
This exalts Columbia's cause, &c. 

Freemen reap the fertile soil 

Their valour has defended, 
And smiling plenty crowns the toil 

Which health and hope attended. 
Exiles here a refuge find, 

Secure from persecution, 
And bless the wisdom that design'd 

Our glorious constitution. 
This exalts Columbia's cause, &c 

See our mighty realm increase, 

Since independence crown'd it, 
And its growth shall never cease, 

Till oceans only bound it ; 
Still Columbia never fights 

For conquest or for plunder, 
Nothing but insulted rights 

Can wake her martial thunder. 
This exalts Columbia's cause, &c. 

See Neptune with the lakes allied, 

No legendary story, 
The god of ocean gains a bride 

Where Perry wedded glory. 
10* 



H4 MELODIES. 

See potent steam's resistless charm 
Uniting distant places, 

Till Mississippi's giant arm 
The Hudson's form embraces. 

This exalts Columbia's cause, &c. 

Hail, thou mistress of the west ! 

Where freemen hold dominion. 
Where the dove may safely rest 

Beneath the eagle's pinion ; 
Long as Cynthia wheels her car, 

Or Phoebus holds his station, 
Be virtue still the brightest star 

In Freedom's Constellation. 
This exalts Columbia's cause, &c, 



'TWAS WAR. 
Air — O breathe not his name. 

'Twas war — and the plough in the furrow was stayed, 
Each art was relinquish' d for musket and blade; 
The pipe of the swain in the valley was still, 
While the bugle*rung loud from each fortified .bill. 

The cause of humanity, freedom, and truth, 
Enkindled a flame in the breast of each youth, 
Which, fann'd by the air that our freemen respire, 
Soon burst on the foe in a deluge of fire. 



PATRIOTIC. 115 

FREEDOM'S JUBILEE. 

Air — Scots wha lute wi' Wallace bled. 

Freedom's Jubilee again 
Calls for music's richest strain, 
Hail her bright auspicious reign, 

Hail the Jubilee. 
Louder let the Anthem swell, 
And to listening seraphs tell, 
That the land in which we dwell 

Ever will be free. 

On this day Columbians broke 
Stern oppression's galling yoke, 
And, by one decisive stroke, 

Made their children free ; 
'Twas the birth of freedom here, 
'Tis a day to freemen dear, 
Let us, then, each rolling year, 

Keep the Jubilee. 

Long and bloody was the fray 
Ere Columbia gain'd the day, 
Lowly many a hero lay, 

Dying to be free. 
But immortal Washington 
Led Columbia's patriots on, 
Till the glorious prize was won, 

Peace and Liberty. 



116 MELODIES. 

THIS BATTLE. 

A Martial Medley — Music by Dames, 

Recitative. 
O who, reclined in dastard ease, 

Could hear his country call in vain, 
Or view her banner court the breeze, 
Nor sigh to seek the hostile plain ? 
Air. 
O perish such wretches ! while, eager for glory, 
The youth of our country are rushing to arms; 
The deeds of our sires, if we list to the story, 
Excite in our bosoms a spirit that charms. 
Recitative. 
But hark ! the cannon's awful roar 
Proclaims the deadly fray begun ! 
The hostile ranks have met once more, 
And clouds of smoke obscure the sun. 
Air. 
The soul-stirring bugle now sounds to the charge, 

And our cavalry rush like a tempest along ; 
The wing of the foe, on the cataract's verge, 
Is broken and turn'd by a current so strong. 

The havoc increases, the squadrons unite, 
The clashing of sabres is jheard in the din, 

All rushing with ardour to share in the fight, 
While bayonets bristle terrific between. 



PATRIOTIC. 117 

The shouts of the victors, the groans of the dying, 

The shrill-sounding fife, and the drum's noisy rattle, 
The prancing of coursers, in charging or flying, 
Unite in augmenting the din of the battle. 
Recitative. 
But, hark ! the distant bugle's strain 

Proclaims the vanquish' d foe is flying ; 
He leaves behind the ensanguined plain, 
Where half his host are dead or dying. 
Air. 
The tumult subsides, and the carnage is done, 
The fie^ld is our own, for the battle is won ; 
Our bugle proclaims us the lords of the day, 
With victory, liberty, glory, huzza ! 



THIS ONSET. 

Air — Harp of Memnon. 

See ! at length, indignant Justice 
Bares her sabre's spotless blade ! 

Swears by Him in whom her trust is, 
Every wrong shall be repaid ! 

Hark ! the horrid fray commences ! 

Mars has slipp'd the dogs of war, 
Death on every side dispenses, 

Spreading ruin round his car. 



118 MELODIES. 

THIS BUGLE. 

Music by E. C. Riley. 

Deep murmuring down the lonely dell. 
The dull tattoo, with drowsy swell, 
Had bid the march-worn soldier rest, 
With armour buckled on his breast. 

But, hark ! what cry alarms ? 

The foe at hand ! — to arms ! 

And, darting from the ground, 

The slumbering veterans bound, 
While the bugle sounds the charge, rousing echo with 

the sound. 

And now the cannon's sullen roar, 
Deep rolb along Ontario's shore, 
While Freedom's sons surprised remain, 
Their watchword stole — their pickets slain. 
In vain their trump alarms, 
In vain they cry, to arms ! 
The foe from ambush springs, 
Their yell the welkin rings, 
While the bugle sounds retreat, adding speed to ter- 
ror's wings. 

Shall Freedom's veterans fly the field, 
Her heroes shrink — her chieftains yield? 
Say, w T here's the spirit of the brave 
Who bled Columbia's rights to save ? 



PATRIOTIC. 119 

It lives ! it breathes ! it warms ! 
Roused by the clash of arms, 
Vengeance, with eye of flame, 
Fires with a love of fame, 
While the bugle sounds the rally, until victory wo 
claim. 



LA FAYETTE'S WELCOME, 

Air — When first infant Liberty. 

The banner of Liberty, proudly unfurl'd, 

Is waving in triumph o'er turret and dome, 
For the hero, whose fame lias enlightened the world, 

Revisits a people who welcome him home. 
The hero, who, spurning the pleasures that wait 
On fortune and rank, in the halls of the great, 
The foes of Columbia intrepidly met, 
Our national guest, is the brave La Fayette. 

He saw infant Liberty struggling for life, 

When clouds of despair had her prospects o'ercast, 
The tempest was raging, he courted the strife, 
His generous bosom was bared to the blast. 
Then welcome him, freemen! he succour'd our cause, 
With Washington fought for our rights and our laws ; 
The foes of Columbia intrepidly met, 
Then hail the return of the brave La Fayette. 



120 MELODIES. 

A MASONIC ODE. 

Air — Hail to the Chief. 

Dark was the hour, when Columbia, despairing, 

Breathed her petitions for succour in vain, 
While in her vallies the war-torch was glaring, 

Sweeping her hamlets and cots from the plain. 
Wounded and bleeding her sons were retiring, 
Flush' d with successes, the foeman pursued ; 
Freedom and Hope seem'd in tortures expiring, 
Heroes were sleeping in death, unsubdued. 
" Great source of light 1 ." she cried, 
" No more thy presence hide, 
" Is there no help ? We are sorely beset." 
Soon as the mourner spoke, 
Bright rays of glory broke, 
Round a young hero — the brave La Fayette. 

Lo ! from the east, with a mystic resplendence, 

Rose the bright star which enlightened the gloom ; 
Led by its ray, and our loved Independence, 

Came the young knight, with his bright glossy plume. 
Washington saw, and with rapture elated, 

Press'd to his bosom the chivalrous boy ; 
Tyranny frown'd, and with hate unabated, 

Sought, like a Herod, the youth to destroy. 
Fierce raged the vengeful fray, 
Till freemen gain'd the day, 

Age-frosted veterans remember it yet : 



PATRIOTIC. 151 

Then gallant Washington 
Hail'd Gallia's godlike son, 
Champion of freedom, the brave La Fayette. 

Thus was the temple of freedom erected, 

Crown'd with the key-stone of union and love; 
Wisdom, and Beauty, and Strength, were connected, 

Three noble pillars which nothing can move. 
Tyrants may rage, and in triple alliance, 

Seek to demolish so sacred a dome ; 
Trusting in Heaven, we bid them defiance, 
While we thus welcome its architect home. 
Hail ! friend of Washington ! 
Hail ! Gallia's godlike son ! 
Brother ! companion ! as such dearer yet, 
Long may thy friendly smile 
Our festive hours beguile, 
Long may freemasons thus hail La Fayette. 



LA PAYETTE. 

When the lily of Gallia first bloom' d in our valley, 
'Twas planted by one we shall never forget, 

It was spotless and white, like the delicate light 
Which beam'd from the eye of the young La Fayette. 

When the ever-green laurel we won in the quarrel, 
By Washington's finger beside it was set, 

O the beautiful cluster emitted a lustre 
Like that which now circles the brave La Fayette. 

11 



122 MELODIES. 

HAIL, X..A. PAYETTE! 

Air — The Last Bugle, 

Hark ! the martial drum hails the approach of the brave ! 
The hero who comes o'er the proud-swelling wave, 
To the land he defended, the land of the free, 
Which greets his return with a grand jubilee, 
While her sons, to acknowledge sweet gratitude's debt, 
Now awake the loud bugle, to hail La Fayette. 

All hail, gallant soldier ! thy fame shall extend, 
As Liberty's champion, and Washington's friend, 
Till all, in the light of its glory, shall see 
A world disenthralls, independent, and free; 
While millions, inspired by sweet gratitude's debt, 
Shall awake the loud bugle, to hail La Fayette. 



XiA FAYETTE, 

See him surrounded by admiring crowds, 

And modestly receive their salutations, 
While their united plaudits rend the clouds, 

To prove republics may be grateful nations. 
Behold him grasp some hoary veteran's hand, 

Or press an old associate to his breast, 
While in his eyes the tears of rapture stand, 

By which the noblest feelings are exprest. 

Behold him in the festive scene, where one 
Full tide of pleasure through each bosom flows, 



PATRIOTIC. 123 

Or bending o'er the tomb of Washington, 
Or on the ensanguined spot where freedom's foes 
Beheld him leading her resistless van — 
In every scene you find him still — a man. 
But O, the moral grandeur of that hour, 
When introduced beneath our Senate's dome, 
The solemn conclave hailed him welcome home, 
Leaves human language destitute of power 
To do it justice. It was more sublime 
Than any scene upon the page of time* 



THE GOD OF BATTLE. 

Music by Swindells. 

The god of battle be thy shield, 
And guard my love from danger, 

When havoc desolates the field, 
Whence pity flies a stranger. 

Where hearts, determined to be free, 

Assume relentless rigour, 
And arms which strike for liberty, 

Possess immortal vigour, 

There guard my gallant soldier's breast, 
Till victory light upon his crest ; 
And when the foeman flies before him, 
O then to love and me restore him. 



124 MELODIES. 

PROGRESS OF IMPROVEMENT. 

Yes, blest Columbians ! — In this favour' d clime, 
What new-born beauties mark the track of time! 
His every footstep, through the forest's gloom, 
Gives birth to flowerets of unfading bloom. 
No crumbling towers (the monuments of pride 
And stern oppression) at his touch divide ; 
No fertile fields here fade beneath his tread, 
No smoke of blazing cities wreathes his head ; 
But in his path a blushing Eden springs, 
While countless joys are scatter'd from his wings ! 

Our late departed guest, brave La Fayette, 
To whom Columbia owes so vast a debt, 
With almost speechless joy and wonder, traced 
Refinement's progress through the savage waste, 
Where erst his youthful arm had bared the blade, 
The drooping cause of liberty to aid ; 
When from a princely court he sped his way 
To meet the foes of freedom in the fray ; 
Resolved for glory's dazzling goal to run, 
And share the prize with none but Washington ! 

Where then dark forests echoed war's alarms, 
The veteran now beheld rich cultured farms ! 
With meadows, orchards, fields of waving grain, 
And herds of cattle grazing on the plain ! 
Where then the wolf and panther prowl' d for prey, 
He now beheld our flocks in safety stray ! 



PATRIOTIC. 125 

Saw lowing kine supply the milk-maid's pail, 
Where antlered stags once bounded through the vale ! 
And heard the shepherd's wild-notes sweetly swell 
O'er the rocks once startled by the Indian yell! 

More westward still, he turn'd his wondering eyes. 
Where hamlets, towns, and villages, arise 
Along the course of that stupendous chain 
Which now unites fair Erie to the main. 
Commerce was there, in all his golden pride, 
With blooming agriculture at his side'; 
While smiling plenty followed in their train, 
And pour'd her bounties o'er the teeming plain ; 
The chief beheld, and felt his bosom glow, 
To view the blessings which from freedom flow. 

But when he saw the sages of the land 
Convened, to place in some deserving hand 
The reins of power, the car of state to guide, 
In peace or war, whatever fate betide ; 
A chief installed, without that vain parade 
Which dazzles vassals when their kings are made — 
Fired with the moral grandeur of the scene, 
With tear-drops gushing from an eye serene, 
He saw — he heard — and with expanding breast, 
Pronounced Columbia's sons supremely blest. 



Fair Science her portals of light shall unfold, 
And Genius soar upwards on pinions of gold. 

11* 



126 MELODIES. 

INDEPENDENCE. 

Air — The Reel of TuUochgorum.* 

Come crowd around the festive board, 
And join the song with one accord, 
Be every breast with pleasure stored, 

And care and envy send hence. 
Our dear-bought freedom we will praise, 
Dear bought freedom — dear bought freedom- 
Our dear-bought freedom we will praise, 

The right of our descendants ; 
Our dear-bought freedom we will praise, 
And every glowing heart shall raise 
The chorus of our joyful lays, 

Columbia's Independence. 

Be party rancour banish' d hence, 
For peace is virtue's recompense ; 
Friendship and love on no pretence 

Should ever meet with hinderance. 
Let sons of freedom e'er agree — 
Sons of freedom — sons of freedom — 
Let sons of freedom e'er agree, 

In amity's attendance ; 
Let sons of freedom e'er agree, 
For why should men, existing free, 
Deform with discord's stormy sea — 

Columbia's Independence ? 

• A celebrated Scotch dance, murlt in \o"u? a) Aberdeen, in Scalane!. 



PATRIOTIC. 127 

We here assemble to rejoice 
That patriots, with united voice, 
Once rose and made this manly choice, 

For them and their descendants. 
They freedom's eagle raised on high — 
Freedom's eagle — freedom's eagle — 
They freedom's eagle raised on high, 

Amid the stars' resplendence ; 
They freedom's eagle raised on high, 
And swore to fight or bravely die, 
If foreign despots dare deny 

Columbia's Independence. 

Bellona goads her foaming steeds, 
Beneath her car oppression bleeds, 
And tyranny with haste recedes, 

With all its curst attendants ; 
Our patriot fathers gain'd the day — 
Patriot fathers — patriot fathers — 
Our patriot fathers gain'd the day, 

For them and their descendants ; 
Our patriot fathers gain'd the day, 
For which we raise the joyful lay, 
And on our banners still display 

Columbia's Independence. 

Then freedom bade her temple rise, 
Whose fabric every foe defies, 
While joyous seraphs from the skies 
Bestow their glad attendance ; 



128 MELODIES. 

And shades of martyrs smiling see — 
Shades of martyrs — shades of martyrs- 
And shades of martyrs smiling see 

The joy of their descendants; 
And shades of martyrs smiling see 
Their sons united, brave and free, 
And yearly hail, with mirth and glee, 

Columbia's Independence. 



PRINTERS' ODE. 

Air — Anacreon in heaven. 

From the crystalline courts of the temple of light, 

The dove-eye of mercy to earth was directed, 
Where mortals were grov'ling, deep shrouded in night ; 
For passion was worshipp'd and wisdom rejected: 
Immersed in each ill 
Of corrupted free-will, 
Yet mercy was patient, and patience slept still : 

For infinite Love had his banner unfurl'd, 
And the precepts of wisdom were preach'd to the world. 

But haughty ambition extended his reign, 

And wielded the sceptre of magic delusion, 
Held reason enshackled in tyranny's chain, 
And govern'd by knowledge and learning's exclusion. 
With mitre and hood, 
Superstition and blood, 
Corruption and vice deluged earth like a flood ; 






PATRIOTIC. 129 

The blood-crimson'd banner of war was unfurl'd, 
And knowledge and science were swept from the world. 

Deep lock'd in the shrine of antiquity's lore, 

The Scriptures of light were withheld unexpounded, 
A counterfeit Peter still guarded the door, 

And the seekers of truth were by error confounded. 
Omnipotence saw — 
Bade delusion withdraw, 
And ordain'd that our art should promulgate his law. 
Then Genius his fetters at tyranny hurl'd, 
And printing appeared, to enlighten the world. 

The blush of Aurora now lighted the east, 

And banish'd the darkness of mystical terror : 
Man sprang from the shrine of the mystical beast, 
While prejudice own'd and relinquish'd his error, 
The truth was received, 
Admired and believed, 
i r># ^ r ' g jg the art which the blessing achieved: 
v was the banner of wisdom unfurl'd, 
d printing arose, like a sun, to the world. 

The sage of Genoa, whose emulous soul, 

By a flash from our art, glow'd with new inspiration ; 
In brilliant perspective saw glory's bright goal, 
And enroll' d a new world on the page of creation. 
With high-swelling breast, 
Still onward he press'd, 
Till Eden's bright regions appear'd in the west, 



130 MELODIES. 

Each clime saw the canvas of Europe unfurl'd, 
While printing taught commerce to polish the world. 

But the sons of the west to more glory were born, 

And to us shall proud Europe the laurel surrender; 
For tho' her's was the blushing effulgence of morn, 
Yet our's is the noon of meridian splendour; 
For Heaven decreed 
That Columbia be freed, 
And printing and valour accomplish'd the deed. 
The banner of war was by justice unfurl'd, 
And freedom by printing proclaim' d to the world. 

Our standard the eagle of liberty bears, 

His eyes, like the stars that surround him, resplendent, 
While the olive asks peace, every arrow declares, 
Columbia for ever shall be independent ; 
For freedom is our's, 
Nor shall Europe's mad powers 
A feather e'er filch from our bird as he towers ; 
And while a free press thus enlightens the world, 
The banner of Liberty ne'er shall be furl'd. 



MIT LYRE. 

Columbia call'd — to arms her heroes sprung, 
I felt the impulse, and of glory sung ; 
Swept o'er the chords, assumed a loftier lay, 
And venturous dared with bolder hand to play. 



PATRIOTIC. 131 

ART OF PRINTING. 

Air — The Dauphin. 

When o'er proud Tiber's flood 

Fair Science rear'd her dome, 
And Greece had lent her arts 

To gild imperial Rome ; 
Ambitious Genius aim'd her flight 

To seek unknown renown, 
But, veil'd in sable shades of night, 

She sunk bewildered down ; 
For fate to them denied the art 

Which gives to knowledge birth, 
Refines the human heart, 

And scatters bliss on earth. 

No soft refinements graced 

Or harmonized the mind, 
For maddening war's career 

Left calmer joys behind; 
The social ties which life endear 

Their thoughts could ne'er engage; 
The sympathetic smile and tear 

Were lost in battle's rage : 
For fate to them denied the art 

Which gives to knowledge birth, 
Refines the human heart, 

And scatters bliss on earth. 



132 MELODIES. 

Tunc told a thousand years 

On his eventful page, 
When Faust ^ at length, appears 

To bless the happy age ; 
His plastic hand lends genius wings, 

Bids wisdom proudly soar, 
And infant learning joyful springs 

With powers unknown before. 
His was the heaven-descended art 

To give fair knowledge birth, 
To mend the human heart, 

And civilize the earth. 

The sun of science rose, 

And chased the clouds of night ; 
While wondering realms survey'd, 

Astonish'd at the sight — 
The social arts, in wisdom's train, 

With love and peace advance, 
Teach man to feel his fellow's pain, 

A brother's joy enhance. 
Ours is the heaven-descended art 

To give fair knowledge birth, 
To mend the human heart, 

And civilize the earth. 

Hail, art of arts ! all hail ! 

Thy praises mock the lyre ; 
To reach the boundless theme, 

Its tones in vain aspire; 



PATRIOTIC. j 33 

But grateful hearts, who feel the bliss 

Thy magic power bestows, 
Respond to every strain like this, 

How dull soe'er it flows : 
Our's is the heaven-descended art, 

To give fair knowledge birth, 
To mend the human heart, 

And civilize the earth. 



NEW-YORK. 

As Freedom's first-born, this, our happy land, 
First in the rank of nations still shall stand. 
Here freedom, learning, piety, and worth, 
Proclaim our country queen of all the earth ; 
To whom such boundless stores of bliss are given, 
As mark her for the favoured child of heaven. 
But, though each section of our realm be blest, 
There's one, to me, still dearer than the rest 
'Tis that lov'd region, famed for arts and arms, 
Where patriot virtue every bosom warms ; 
Where Literature has reared her classic dome, 
And heaven-descended science finds a home ; 
Whose eldest city now can proudly vie 
With any rival 'neath the western sky ; 
Whose towns, and hamlets, villages, and farms, 
Are dress'd in art's and nature's richest charms ; 
While through the whole extends that lucid chain, 
Which now unites fair Erie with the main ! 

12 



184 MELODIES. 

PRINTING AND INDEPENDENCE. 

Air — Rise, Columbia. 

When, wrapp'd in folds of papal gloom, 
Dark superstition awed the world, 

Consign'd fair knowledge to the tomb, 
And error's sable flag unfurl'd ; 

Earth heard the mandate from the skies — 

" Let there be light — great art, arise!" 

Young Science wiped her tears and smiled, 
And infant Genius plumed his wing ; 

The arts assemble round the child, 
And all this glowing chorus sing — 

Rise, sun of science ! quick arise ! 

And lend thy light to darken'd eyes. 

Our Art arose, and man had light, 

The clouds of superstition fled, 
The fiend of ignorance took his flight, 

And Error hid his hateful head ; 
Whilst swell' d this chorus to the skies — 
" Our Art shall live, and Freedom rise*" 

The goddess, who for ages past 
Had wept beneath despotic night, 

Her cankering fetters burst at last, 
And claim'd the charter of her right , 

While men and seraphs join'd this strains 

" Printing shall live, and Freedom reign n 



PATRIOTIC. 135 

Hail, Freedom ! hail, celestial guest ! 

O never from thy sons depart ; 
Thine be the empire of the west, 

Thy temple every freeman's heart ; 
The Art of Printing gave thee birth, 
And brightens still thy reign on earth. 

Arise, ye favour' d sons of light, 
Professors of our heaven-born art — 

And in the chorus all unite, 

While joy expands the throbbing heart; 

" The Art of Printing shall endure, 

" And Independence be secure." 

HARK! THE CLAMOROUS BTJGLE. 

He.. .Hark ! the clamorous bugle calls me, 

Fare thee well, I must away ; 
She. . . How, alas ! the sound appals me ! 
Heaven protect thee in the fray. 

He Fame invites me, 

She Danger frights me, 

He Danger is the path to fame ; 

She Fame shall bless thee ; 

Love caress thee, 

He Love and glory gild my name. 

She.. .Hark ! again the bugle loudly 

Both Echoes through the leafy dell; 

Warrior plumes are nodding proudly ; 
He. . . Glory calls me, fare thee well. 
Both. . . Fare thee well, love, fare thee well. 



136 MELODIES. 

TYPOGRAPHICAL ODE. 

Air — Let Fame sound the trumpet. 

Awake the loud trumpet, 'tis Freedom invites, 

Let heroes respond to the strain ; 
The olive of peace with the laurel unites, 

And music swells sweet o'er the plain. 
Thy birth, Independence, by freemen be kept, 

Till Tyranny's banner be furl'd, 
Till despots have bled, where their victims have wept, 

And Freedom has spread o'er the world. 

When dark Superstition had fetter' d the mind, 

And Reason in bondage was bound, 
The goddess descended to ransom mankind, 

And Genius arose from the ground. 
The Press she establish'd, a pillar of fire, 

(While night's sable curtain was furl'd,) 
Its splendour bade mystip delusion retire, 

And Printing gave light to the world. 

The daring Columbus his canvas unfurl'd, 

A nation arose in the west, 
The store-house of Europe, a mart for the world, 

A home for the poor and oppress'd. 
HereFreedom's bright temple effulgent shall shine, 

Her flag o'er its turrets unfurl'd, 
Our arms have twice saved it, 'twill never decline 

While Printing gives light to the world. 






PATRIOTIC. 137 

THE GRAND CANAL. 
Air — Huzza ! Here's Columbia for ever ! 

Triumphant ! victorious ! the rapturous lay 

The voice of each freeman awakes, 
For Neptune and Erie were wedded to-day, 

The ocean is join'd to the lakes. 
'Tis the triumph of mind over matter we hail, 

In paeans of rapture and praise ; 
The genius of Clinton will ever prevail, 

And light the whole world with its rays. 
Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! for the work is completed, 

The glory and pride of our state. 

The waters have met, and they never can part, 

While the earth shall continue to roll ; 
Of the universe now is our city the mart, 

And its fame shall enlighten the whole. 
'Tis the triumph of mind over matter we hail, 

In pecans of rapture and praise, 
The genius of Clinton will ever prevail, 

And light the whole world with its rays. 
Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! for the work is completed, 

The glory and pride of the state. 



CRITICISM. 

To native genius would you prove a friend, 
Point out his faults, and teach him how to mend. 

12* 



138 MELODIES. 

HAIL TO THIS ART. 

Air — Hail to the Chief. 

Hail to the Art, whose effulgence has brighten'd 

The darkness that shrouded, for ages, the world ; 
Long shall her sons, by its lustre enlighten'd, 
Wave the bright banner which Freedom unfurl'd. 

Dark was the human mind, 

And hood-wink'd reason blind, 
While Tyranny gave to his war-steeds the rein; 

Then Faust arose to bless, 

And gave to man the press, 
Free as the billows of Neptune's domain. 

Then Liberty roused from the slumber of ages, 
And taught a new nation to rise in the west ; 
While history, smiling, unfolded her pages, 

And show'd the bright name of Columbia impress'd. 

Long fought her patriot band, 

Blood flow'd around the land, 
Till liberty triumph' d o'er tyranny's powers ; 

The light which printing shed, 

Like Sol's effulgence spread, 
And glory, with bright Independence, was ours. 

Beaming with splendour, from Liberty's altar, 

Ascended the flame which our art had kept bright, 

When demons united again to assault her, 
Demolish her shrine, and extinguish its light. 



PATRIOTIC. 139 

Hark ! trumpets sound alarms ; 

Drums, bugles, call to arms — 
Arouse, freemen, rouse ! to the field like your sires ! 

Soon shall the foeman yield, 

Or fly the embattled field, 
For Liberty triumphs while Printing inspires. 

Twice have our arms Independence protected, 

And twice haughty Britain has yielded the fight ; 
Long shall our valour and rights be respected, 
Long shall the blaze of our glory be bright. 

Then hail the heaven-born art, 

Which first improved the heart, 
And ransom'd the mind from the thraldom of sense; 

Long shall Columbia bless 

The free unshackled Press, 
Liberty's iEgis, and Virtue's defence. 



COLUMBIA. 

Here freedom shall flourish a star in the west; 
The dove and the eagle together shall rest; 
While science shall glow with a lustre more bright t 
And genius soar upwards on pinions of light. 

The arts shall increase and refinement extend, 
New graces to beauty shall piety lend ; 
The demon of selfishness shrink to his hole, 
And the form of each action have use for its soul. 



140 MELODIES. 

PRINTERS? JUBILEE. 

Air — Hail to the Chief. 

Hark ! 'twas the trumpet of Freedom that sounded, 

Millions of voices respond to the strain, 
Hailing the day when an empire was founded, 

Firm as our mountains, and free as the main ! 
Brightly the star of its glory is beaming — 

Loudly the paeans of gladness arise ; 
Gaily our star-spangled banners are streaming ; 
Proudly our cannon are shaking the skies. 
'Tis Freedom's Jubilee, 
Then join ye brave and free, 
Hail its return, independent and blest ! 
Wake music's sweetest voice, 
Long may we thus rejoice ! 
Hail to Columbia, the queen of the west ! 

Dark was the gloom which her temple surrounded, 

Sad were the sighs that exhausted her breath, 
When, from its deep-vaulted roof, first resounded, 

The soul stirring words — Independence or Death f 
Franklin, the pride of our art and the nation, 

Fixed on the charter of glory his seal, 
Freemen confirmed it, with loud acclamation, 
Heaven has sanctioned the solemn appeal. 
Sons of the brightest art 
Heaven can to man impart, 
Join in the chorus— our country is blest — 



PATRIOTIC. 141 

This is her Jubilee, 
Long shall her sons be free ; 
Hail to Columbia, the queen of the west ! 

Long was the struggle for freedom and glory ; 

Fierce was the conflict our fathers sustained ; 
Bright are their actions emblazoned in story: 

Long may we guard what their valour obtained. 
Hail to the art which such zeal could awaken ! 

Long may it flourish, their sons to inspire ; 
Freedom for ever the world had forsaken, 
Had not the Press been " a pillar of fire." 
Sons of the brightest art 
Heaven can to man impart, 
Join in the chorus — our country is blest ; 
This is her Jubilee — 
Long may her sons be free- 
Hail to Columbia, the queen of the west. 



our couNTmr. 

Now Commerce revives, and her hundred wheels roll, 
Our canvas is spread from equator to pole; 
Antipodes gaze on our banner unfurl'd, 
For the course of our eagle shall girdle the world. 

The genius of plenty her office resumes, 
The treasures of India — Arabia's perfumes, 
Each gem and each fruit that the world can produce, 
Her horn pours around for our pleasure or use. 



142 MELODIES. 

THE JUBILEE. 

Air — Anacreon in heaven. 

While freedom's bright banner is waving unfurl'd, 

And millions are hailing the birth of a nation, 
Let the voice of our cannon proclaim to the world 
The joy that we feel on this grand celebration. 
Independent and free, 
We swear still to be, 
And bequeath to our children this bright Jubilee. 
And millions unborn shall exultingly say, 
A nation of freemen was born in a day. 

But long was the conflict our fathers sustain'd, 

For strong was the iron-nerved arm of oppression, 
Till valour and justice the victory gain'd, 
And wrung from the foe a reluctant concession. 
In field, and on flood, 
Mid torrents of blood, 
Undaunted, the bulwark of freedom, they stood, 
Till an empire was founded that ne'er shall decay, 
When a nation of freemen was born in a day. 

Their souls at no prospect of danger e'er quaked, 

In securing the right of their grateful descendants, 
For fortune, existence, and honour, were staked, 
To support the bold charter of proud independence. 
They swore to be free, 
And the godlike decree 
Secures us the bliss of this grand jubilee. 



PATRIOTIC. 143 

For an empire was founded that ne'er shall decay, 
And a nation of freemen was born in a day. 

The white dove of peace with her olive return'd, 
By science, and learning, and genius attended, 
On liberty's altar new incense was burn'd, 
Where valour and love were in harmony blended. 
In union combin'd, 
They expanded the mind, 
Till ocean, and rivers, and lakes are combined. 
Thus an empire is founded, that ne'er shall decay, 
Since a nation of freemen was born in a day. 

Then wake the loud anthem in liberty's praise, 

While millions unite in the grand celebration, 
And the symbols of joy which our country displays, 
Shall spread thro' the world a sublime emulation. 
Till happy and free, 
All nations agree, 
To celebrate Liberty's grand jubilee. 
And millions unborn shall exultingly say, 
A nation- of freemen was born in a day 



OUR COUNTRY. 

The names of our heroes, recorded by Fame, 
Shall glow in her tablets in letters of flame ; 
And patriots, and sages, and bards yet unborn, 
With splendour as brilliant the page shall adorn. 






POEMS. 

EPISTLES, TALES, RECITATIONS, &C 

THE ZODIAC. 

Addressed to a young lady, on New-Year : s Day. 

Dear Julia — Philosophers gravely assert 
That our beautiful world is a spherule of dirt, 
That rolls, in a circuit, through regions of space, 
And passes, each year, through the very same place ; 
That while it turns over, by day or by night, 
We scarcely know whether we'er standing upright ; 
But, yet, that our love for it sticks us so fast, 
We cannot fall off— but adhere to the last. 

The truth of such doctrine I will not dispute, 
Because I'm engaged in another pursuit ; 
Besides, since I first crept about this machine, 
Such queer topsy-turvy manoeuvres I've seen, 
That twenty to one (as the learned have said) 
But mortals are, half the time, heels over head. 
Yet, still, as a poet, you know, I am bound 
To believe that the sun always travels around 

13 



14G POEMS. 

The turnpike of heaven, in chariot of fire, 
Drawn rapidly onward by steeds that ne'er tire, 
Nor stop to refresh, tho' they pass, as they fly, 
The signs of a dozen fine inns, in the sky. 

When last I address'd you, this bright charioteer 
Was galloping on in his brilliant career, 
The steeds from their nostrils still vomiting flame, 
As past the next stage-house they rapidly came. 
Poor Phoebus in vain might have thirsted for wine, 
For nothing but water appeared on the sign: 
So onward he drove in the bright starry zone, 
And left the cold cheerless Aquarius alone. 

The scaly star, Pisces, soon greeted his eye, 
His old stopping-place, if the ancients don't lie, 
Who counted this stage as the last on his rout, 
Its sign is so tempting — a fine salmon trout. 
But soon the fierce steeds left it far in the rear, 
For another, that promised some mutton, was near ; 
That Ram which had once a fair rider upon't, 
And let her fall plump in the famed Hellespont ; 
The crooked-horn Aries, whose rich golden fleece 
Was carried by Jason, in triumph, to Greece, 
Was the sign that invited the driver to bait, 
But nothing, it seems, could induce him to wait ; 
A crack of his whip, and the mettlesome steeds 
Start forward like lightning, while Aries recedes. 

But Phoebus, 'tis said, when he saw the next sign> 
Was almost determin'd to stop and to dine ; 



EPISTLES. 147 

For the golden-horn'd Bull, which so gallantly bore 
The lovely Europa to Crete's happy shore, 
Invitingly promised, for hunger's relief, 
A fine smoking sirloin of English roast beef. 

Apollo, however, regardless of inns, 
Drove onward, nor even accosted the Twins, 
Those famous Tyndarian brothers, that dwell, 
By changes alternate, in heaven or hell ; 
The comrades of Jason in winning the fleece, 
Whose smiles, it is said, lull the tempest to peace, 
If sailors sincerely their favours invoke, 
To save from the wreck which the billows have broke- 
Behind were the Crab and the Lion afar, 
As well as the Virgin, Engone's star ; 
Astrea's bright balance now glow'd on his sight, 
It trembled — he threw in a handful of light, 
And finding the darkness just equalled the day, 
He whipp'd up his horses, and posted away. 
The Scorpion and Centaur he rapidly pass'd, 
And Pan, his old friend, he saluted at last ; 
For his steeds, at the moment these verses were wrote, 
Was galloping up to the sign of the Goat. 
In pure native English, your minstrel would say, 
That another New-Year is commencing to-day. 

Dear Julia, may blessings attend its return, 
While life's little taper continues to burn ; 
And then, when the last welcome summons you hear, 
May you wake to a happy, thrice happy JVeio Year. 



148 EPISTLES. 

TO A YOUNG LADY, 

With a miniature volume of Montgomery's Poems, as 
published in Boston, 1807. 

[a juvenile production.] 

Accept, lovely maiden, this little bequest, 

An advocate certain my suit to obtain ; 
To the generous, feeling, susceptible breast, 

The muse of Montgomery plead not in vain. 

And when that sweet eye of cerulean hue, 
Drops the warm tear of pity for virtue distressed, 

Then think of the donor, whose sympathy true, 
The number thou shed'st will engrave on his breast. 

While Switzerland's Wanderer draws on the heart 
For the tribute which sentiment e'er must bestow; 

Then think of thy friend, in a far distant part, 
A Wanderer press'd with his portion of wo. 

And when o'er the Grave thou art bending with pain, 
But a pain not unmingled with pensive delight, 

Let one gem of pity be shed for the swain 
Who is buried to pleasure, when banished thy sight, 

While the tones of the Lyre brighten sadness to joy, 
And thou hearest with rapture its solacing lays, 

Remember the youth whose delightful employ 
Is to sing to his lyre while it warbles thy praise. 



TO A LADY. 149 

The Remonstrance to Winter is heard and obeyed, 
And Flora unfolds every beautiful hue ; 

But remember, tho' nature in spring is arrayed, 
To me all is winter while absent from you. 

The Fowler's simplicity cannot but please, 
Religion has beauties that never decay ; 

E'en Grief has its Joy, and anguish finds ease, 
In listening to pious Montgomery's lay. 

Alexandria's Battle admire, not approve, 

But haste from the scene to the Pillow for rest ; 

On the pinion of fancy then pensively rove, 

But let thy friend's image still dwell in thy breast. 

View Brown with compassion, breathe pity's soft sigh, 

For sorrows unmerited, cruel, unjust ; 
But smile on the Thunder-storm rolling on high, 

'Tis the voice of thy God, but he wars not with dust. 

Hail the brave Volunteers of Albion's isle, 
And cherish the patriot glow in thy breast ; 

St. Mark's ancient Vigil a tear may beguile, 
Thy friend then remember, like Edwin distressed. 

Remember thy friend — is the donor's request, 
And this Advocate proifers his suit to obtain ; 

To the generous, feeling, susceptible breast, 
The muse of Montgomery pleads not in vain. 



13* 



150 POEMS. 

THE SEASONS. 

To the same, with a volume of Thompson's Seasons, 

Julia — each season of the changsful year, 
In every stage of fleeting time's career, 
Comes with a wreath of joy around it thrown, 
Some bliss, peculiar to itself alone ; 
For Heaven, throughout creation's wondrous plan, 
Has had but one end — the happiness of man. 

Pregnant with buds and flowers, the Spring appears, 
Like a young bride, arrayed in smiles and tears; 
Then sweetest odours float on every breeze, 
And new-made liveries clothe the sturdy trees ; 
Each bush and shrub a verdant garb assumes, 
The apple blossoms, and the lilac blooms ; 
A thousand flowerets in the meadow spring, 
And feathered choirs their grateful anthems sing; 
While vallies, hills, and woods, in rich array, 
Hail, with delight, the bright return of May. 






Then Summer comes, the noontide of the year, 
When the sun gallops in his full career ; 
She comes — her brows with yellow wheat-ears crown'd ; 
Her laughing face by heat and toil embrown'd ; 
She comes with full and bounteous hand to bring 
All that was promised by the hopeful Spring. 
'Tisthen the long protracted sultry day 
Perfects the embryon blossoms on each spray ; 



EPISTLES. 151 

Bids the young fruit with richest juices teem, 
And blush and ripen in the solar beam ; 
Then scarlet strawberries court the eager taste, 
And luscious melons yield a sweet repast ; 
While nectarious berries of each varied dye, 
On every bush and bramble greet the eye. 

Next, temperate Autumn comes upon the stage, 
The sober mean 'twixt vigorous youth and age ; 
The evening twilight of the fading year, 
When objects all in mellowest tints appear; 
When feathered songsters cease their tuneful notes, 
And liveried groves appear with yellow coats ; 
The fruit-trees then, with golden burdens bend, 
And clustering grapes from shadowy vines impend ; 
Pomona's treasures lie in heaps around, 
Scattered in rich profusion on the ground ; 
From juicy apples, tortured in the mill, 
Sweet streams of grateful beverage distil ; 
While ponderous wagons every field displays, 
Groaning beneath their loads of ripened maize. 

Winter succeeds, with snow-wreaths on his brow — 
Julia, I feel his icy fingers now ! 
Winter succeeds — the midnight of the year, 
And all the fields are barren, cold, and drear ; 
He binds the streams and lakes in silver chains, 
And hoary frost has candied all the plains ; 
The liveried trees their yellow coats forego, 
And shivering stand, in shrouds of frozen snow ; 



152 POEMS. 

While the chill'd sap leaves succorless the shoot, 
And shrinks below, to cheer the dying root. 

Nor is stern Winter's icy sceptre swayed 
O'er sylvan scenes alone — his shafts invade 
Our splendid city, too — and every street 
Is rendered cheerless by his pointed sleet ; 
For every arrow from the centaur's bow, 
f s tipt with ice, and feathered, too, with snow. 
The Battery, now, each verdant charm has lost, 
And e'en the Park is silvered o'er with frost ; 
Vauxhall and Castle- Garden, late so gay, 
Where night gave place to artificial day, 
Are now deserted — even Chatham mourns, 
s And all must droop till gentle Spring returns. 

But still, amid his tempest's rude alarms, 
Still Winter brings his own redeeming charms ; 
Pleasures to no preceding season known, 
Delights peculiar to himself alone. 
His gelid breath (a healthful vapour, which 
Screws up this living lyre to concert-pitch) 
Enriches every fluid, and preserves 
An equal tension of the chords and nerves. 
Elastic as the air, our spirits soar, 
By heat and languor now depressed no more ; 
While health and vigour wanton through our veins, 
And drive each azure demon from the brains. 

But that blest space between the day and night, 
A winter's evening, gives the most delight ; 



EPISTLES. 153 

Sacred to friendship, love, and social mirth, 

When kindred souls surround the blazing hearth, 

Where wine, and wit, and sentiment abound, 

And modest jests and repartees go round. 

Or if the same domestic happy group, 

Adjourn to hear our new Italian troupe;* 

Or gaze intensely on the tragic scene, 

When Conway, Cooper, Hamblin, Booth, or Kean, 

Pours a bright flood of wonder o'er their minds, 

And in his train the captive stranger binds ; — 

Whether they join in laughing with the pit, 

At Barnes's humour, or at Hilson's wit ; 

Tremble at base Iago's cruel hate, 

Or mourn for lovely Belvidera's fate ; 

Or weep, at Chatham, for poor Blanche's grief, 

Inflicted by Clan Alpine's desperate chief; 

And then, in pleased and breathless silence, hear 

The requiem chanted o'er his silent bier ; 

Or with the brave Fitz-James, admiring view, 

Fair Ellen guide her little frail canoe ; 

Or view the Ethiop, from the Turkish tomb, 

Rise like a troubled spirit through the gloom ; 

Or should they mingle in the mazy dance, 

Where hearts bound quick at beauty's tender glance, 

J Tis still domestic bliss, wher e'er they roam, 

For every place, to kindred hearts, is home. 

But Winter's brightest joy, in towns like this, 
Is yet unsung — I mean that scene of bliss 

* This Epistle wa; written on Christmas Eve, 1825. 



154 POEMS. 

To which our annual holy-days give birth, 
A foretaste of Elysium here on earth ! 
That period to generous hearts so dear, 
That little week of joy that shuts the year, 
And brings to light the bright auspicious morn, 
When all unite to hail a New-Year born ! 

In all my wanderings thro' this vale of tears, 
From infancy, to manhood's riper years, 
Whatever pains assail'd, or griefs oppress'd, 
Christmas and New-Year always saw me blest! 
A lengthened absence o'er, how pleasant, then, 
The friends I dearest love to meet again ! 
Grasp the warm hand, or share the fond embrace, 
And see new smiles lit up in every face ! 
'Twas Christmas eve ! the supper board was spread, 
The fire blazed high, with logs of hickory fed ; 
The candles, too, unusual lustre lent, 
Candles expressly made for this event. 
Old tales were told, the cheerful glass went round, 
While peals of laughter made the cot resound. 
A thousand welcomes hail'd the truant boy, 
And swift the moments flew on wings of joy; 
Till (as they thought, too soon) the hour of prayer 
Bade the young urchins to their beds repair. 
But first the stocking, from each little leg, 
Must be suspended to a hook or peg, 
That Santaclaus, who travels all the night, 
Might, in the dark, bestow his favours right ; 



EPISTLES. 155 

These rites observed, they take a parting kiss, 
And go to dream of morning's promised bliss ! 
Thus did a week of festive pleasures roll, 
Till New-Year's happy morning crown'd the whole. 

But though long past are days and joys so dear, 
Others as sweet still crown each fleeting year ; 
E'en brighter pleasures, now, 'tis mine to prove, 
In Julia's friendship, and my Lydia's love. 
While our gay prattlers, innocent as young, 
Re-act the drama here so coldlv sunor, 
Accept this token of my pure regard, 
The Seasons, sung by an immortal bard, 
The peerless Thompson ; hear his rural strains, 
And you'll forget that blustering winter reigns'; 
Accept this tribute of a heart sincere, 
And be you happy many a future year. 



FASHIONS. 

Addressed to my friend, G. P. Morris, Esq. 

How fashions change in this inconstant world ! 

Powder and queues held undisputed sway 
When I was young ; anon, the hair was curl'd, 

And, after that, the top-knot had its day. 

The last, I understand, has given way 
To Saunders' plain-cropt crown. So much for men- 

The ladies — bless their pretty faces ! — may 
Recount a thousand changes to our ten. 



156 POEMS. 

There were the huge crape cushion, hoop, and stays, 
To go no further back ; — my mother wore them 

Before her marriage ; — and, in after days, 
I've heard her wish that fashion might restore them 

Short waists, and long, have had alternate sway, 

Since hoops were banished, to the present day. 

And I have prized them all — for I confess, 

'Tis my opinion, that the virtuous fair, 
While they derive no one new charm from dress, 

Impart a charm to every dress they wear. 

But Fashion's freaks, we know, are not confined 

To the habiliments her votaries wear ; 
She even dictates to the immortal mind, 

And deigns to take beneath her tender care 
Celestial genius, fancy, taste, and wit, 
And e'en religion, too, must oft submit ; 
For since great Johnson frown'd upon dissenters, 
'Tis the established church that Fashion enters ; 
And were each pun a diamond, she'd not take one, 
Because the Doctor had not wit to make one ; 
Just as the fox condemn' d the grapes as sour, 
Because he found them not within his pow'r. 

Mark but the movements of the goddess, through 
A few short years : — Moore's Lyrics were in fashion, 

Till Byron's vision burst upon the view, 
Scattering, from demon wings, a storm of passion. 



EPISTLES. 1ST 

Then fashion taught her votaries to adore 

The idol which tempestuous clouds environ, 
And left the sweet elysian fields of Moore, 

To wander o'er the Upas realms of Byron, 
With bones of human victims covered o'er, 
Or to the snow-capt mountain trembling soar, 
Where huge volcanoes vomit quenchless flame, 
Fierce as his soul, and brilliant as his fame. 

Scott was, awhile, the star of the ascendant, 
(If Scott wrote Waverly and Kenilworth,) 
And dazzled with a glory as resplendent 
As ever beam'd upon the moral earth 
Since Shakspeare lived, whose magic pen 
Explored the very souls of men : 
Like his, for painting character and passion, 
The muse of Waverly was long in fashion. 

With all such changes in proud Albion's clime, 

Allowing, say a month, for transportation, 
Their humble parasites have here kept time, 

In dress and morals, taste and conversation. 
'Tis true, our wondrous spirit of invention 

Has added to the sttck of information, 
And there are some improvements I could mention, 

That add new lustre to our reputation. 

Awhile ago, and Greece was all the rage, 
That is, we felt enraged against the Turks, 

And every daily paper had a page 

Pilled up entirely with their bloody works, 

14 



158 POEMS. 

With battles, massacres, heroic deeds, 

And self-devotedness of patriot men, 
And cruelties at which the bosom bleeds, 

When memory calls the picture back again. 
Wives, mothers, maids, compelled to slay themselves, 
Or yield to these infernal turban'd elves. 

One general burst of honest indignation 

Was heard throughout the land ; our public halls 
Echoed to strains of lofty declamation, 

Or sweeter strains of fiddles — for our balls, 
And every other pastime, were intended 
To aid the cause which Grecian arms defended. 
To save their sisters from such cruel foes, 

Our patriot ladies danced with ceaseless ardour, 
As some say masses for the sake of those 

Whose destiny below is somewhat harder. 
Whole families were doomed to starve for weeks, 

(Who had no banker whom to draw for cash on,) 
For splendid dresses worn to aid the Greeks ! 

But, recollect, the Greeks were then in fashion. 

Fayette, who help'd to make Columbia free, 

The man whom free-born millions now revere, 
Great La Fayette, the friend of Liberty, 

Has been in fashion more than half a year ; 
And will be so for centuries, no doubt, 

For millions yet unborn shall shout his name, 
And seek the dangerous path he singled out 

To reach the summit of immortal fame. 



EPISTLES. 159 

Canals aTe much in vogue at present, though 

'Twas once the fashion to oppose them ; 
From Maine to Georgia now, they're all the go, 

And half her real wealth Columbia owes them. 
E'en Darien, whose adamantine throne 

Still dares two kindred oceans to divide, 
Is doom'd to see its empire overthrown, 

And commerce o'er its ruins proudly ride. 

But there's one fashion I must not forget 

On this occasion — one that's worth commending, 
And justly venerated, you'll admit, 

For its antiquity ; — 'tis that of sending 
To some one we esteem on New- Year's day 
A short, familiar, tributary lay, 

Such as I now address to you, 
Deficient both in sentiment and passion, 

But ending with kind wishes, warm and true — 
Accept it, George — for I must be in fashion. 

May every bliss that heaven can give be yours, 
While the brief term of human life endures ; 
Domestic joys, a moderate share of wealth, 
Contented mind, vivacity, and health; 
Friends that are faithful, able, and refined, 
Children obedient — consort true and kind ; 
The will and means the child of want to save, 
And thus secure a fund beyond the grave. 
If these be yours, there cannot be a fear 
But you will hail with joy the infant year. 



160 TALES AND 

TIT FOR TAT, 

OR, THE COQUETTE PUNISHED. 

Ellen was fair, and knew it too, 
As other village beauties do 

Whose mirrors never lie ; 
Secure of any swain she chose, 
She smiled on half a dozen beaux, 
And, reckless of a lover's woes, 
She cheated these, and taunted those ; 
" For how could any one suppose 

" A clown could take her eye ?" 

But whispers through the village ran, 
That Edgar was the happy man 

The maid design'd to bless ; 
For wheresoever moved the fair, 
The youth was, like her shadow, there, 
And rumour boldly match'd the pair, 

For village folks will guess. 

Edgar did love, but still delay'd 
To make confession to the maid, 

So bashful was the youth ; 
But let the flame in secret burn, 
Certain of meeting a return, 
When, from his lips, the fair should learn, 

Officially, the truth. 



RECITATIONS. 161 

At length, one morn, to taste the air, 
The youth and maid, in one horse chair, 

A long excursion took. 
Edgar had nerved his bashful heart 
The sweet confession to impart, 
For ah ! suspense had caused a smart 

He could no longer brook. 

He drove, nor slackened once his reins, 
Till Hempstead's wide extended plains 

Seem'd join'd to skies above ; 
Nor house, nor tree, nor shrub was near, 
The rude and dreary scene to cheer, 
Nor soul within ten miles to hear — 
And still poor Edgar's silly fear 

Forbade to speak of love. 

At last, one desperate effort broke 
The bashful spell, and Edgar spoke 

With most persuasive tone ; 
Recounted past attendance o'er, 
And then, by all that's lovely, swore 
That he would love for evermore, 

If she'd become his own. 

The maid, in silence, heard his prayer, 
Then, with a most provoking air, 

She tittered in his face ; 
And said, " 'Tis time for you to know 
" A lively girl must have a beau, 

14* 



162 TALES AND 

" Just like a reticule — for show ; 
" And at her nod to come and go— 

" But he should know his place. 
" Your penetration must be dull, 
" To let a hope within your skull 

" Of matrimony spring. 
" Your wife ! ha, ha ! upon my word, 
" The thought is laughably absurd 
" As any thing I ever heard — 
" I never dream' d of such a thing." 

The lover sudden dropp'd his rein, 
Now on the centre of the plain — 

"The linch-pin's out!" he cried; 
" Be pleased, one moment, to alight, 
" Till I can set the matter right, 

" That we may safely ride." 

He said, and handed out the fair — 
Then laughing, crack' d his whip in air, 
And wheeling round his horse and chair, 
Exclaim'd, " Adieu, I leave you there 

"In solitude to roam." 
" What mean you, sir !" the maiden cried, 
" Did you invite me out to ride 
" To leave me here without a guide ? 

"Nay, stop, and take me home." 

" What! take you home?" exclaimed the beau, 
" Indeed, my dear, I'd like to know 



RECITATIONS. 163 

" How such a hopeless wish could grow, 

"Or in your bosom spring? 
" Take Ellen home ! upon my word, 
" The thought's as laughably absurd 
" As any thing I ever heard — 

"I never dream' d of such a thing." 



THE WHISKERS. 

The kings, who rule mankind with haughty sway, 
The prouder pope, whom even kings obey — 
Love, at whose shrine both popes and monarchs fall, 
And e'en self-interest, that controls them all — 
Possess a petty power, when all combined, 
Compared with fashion's influence on mankind ; 
For love itself will oft to fashion bow, 
The following story will convince you how : 

A petit maitre wooed a fair, 
Of virtue, wealth, and graces rare ; 
But vainly had preferr'd his claim, 
The maiden own'd no answering flame ; 
At length, by doubt and anguish torn, 
Suspense, too painful to be borne, 
Low at her feet he humbly kneel'd, 
And thus his ardent flame reveal'd : 

" Pity my grief, angelic fair, 
Behold my anguish and despair ; 



164 TALES AND 

For you this heart must ever burn — 
O bless me with a kind return ; 
My love no language can express, 
Reward it then with happiness ; 
Nothing on earth but you I prize, 
All else is trifling in my eyes ; 
And cheerfully would I resign 
The wealth of worlds, to call you mine. 
But, if another gain your hand, 
Far distant from my native land, 
Far hence, from you and hope, I'll fly, 
And in some foreign region die." 

The virgin heard, and thus replied : 
" If my consent to be your bride 
Will make you happy, then be blest, 
But grant me first one small request ; 
A sacrifice I must demand, 
And in return will give my hand." 

" A sacrifice ! O speak its name, 
For you I'd forfeit wealth and fame ; 
Take my whole fortune — every cent — f 
" 'Twas something more than wealth I meant." 
" Must I the realms of Neptune trace ? 
O speak the word — where'er the place, 
For you, the idol of my soul, 
I'd e'en explore the frozen pole ; 
Arabia's sandy desert tread, 
Or trace the Tigris to its head." 



RECITATIONS. 165 

u O no, dear sir, I do not ask 
So long a voyage, so long a task ; 
You must — but ah ! the boon I want, 
I have no hope that you will grant." 

" Shall I, like Bonaparte, aspire 
To be the world's imperial sire ? 
Express the wish, and here I vow, 
To place a crown upon your brow." 

"Sir, these are trifles" — she replied — 
" But if you wish me for your bride, 
You must — but still I fear to speak — 
You'll never grant the boon I seek." 

" O say !" he cried — u dear angel say — 
What I must do, and I obey ; 
No longer rack me with suspense, 
Speak your commands, and send me hence." 

" Well, then, dear generous youth!" she cries, 
" If thus my heart you really prize, 
And wish to link your fate with mine, 
On one condition I am thine ; 
'Twill then become my pleasing duty, 
To contemplate a husband's beauty ; 
And gazing on his manly face, 
His feelings and his wishes trace ; 
To banish thence each mark of care, 
And light a smile of pleasure there. 



166 TALES AND 

O let me then, 'tis all I ask, 

Commence at once the pleasing task ; 

O let me, as becomes my place, 

Cut those huge whiskers from your face." 

She said— but O, what strange surprise 
Was pictured in her lover's eyes! 
Like lightning from the ground he sprung, 
While wild amazement tied his tongue ; 
A statue, motionless, he gazed, 
Astonish'd, horror-struck, amazed. 
So look'd the gallant Perseus, when 
Medusa's visage met his ken ; 
So look'd Macbeth, whose guilty eye 
Discern'd an "air drawn dagger" nigh; 
And so the prince of Denmark stared, 
When first his father's ghost appeared. 

At length our hero silence broke, 
And thus in wildest accents spoke : 
" Cut off my whiskers ! O ye gods ! 
I'd sooner lose my ears, by odds; 
Madam, I'd not be so disgraced, 
So lost to fashion and to taste, 
To win an empress to my arms, 
Though blest with more than mortal charms. 
My whiskers! Zounds!" He said no more, 
But quick retreated through the door, 
And sought a less obdurate fair, 
To take the beau with all his hair. 



RECITATIONS. 167 

THIS EXPERT FRISEUR. 

The other day, a certain beau, 
Before he could a courting go, 
Must needs be dress'd ; so off he flew 
To the first shop that met his view; 
" Come, barber," he exclaimes in haste, 
" Display for once a little taste, 
Exert your powers, and don't be stupid, 
But make me pretty as a Cupid. 
Consult my visage now with care, 
And to my looks adapt my hair." 
The man, a master of his trade, 
His best abilities display'd ; 
And Cupid from his chair arose, 
A finished beauty, we suppose ; 
Approach'd the glass, his visage spied, 
Then turning to the barber, cried — 
" Is this your boasted taste ? — for shame ! 
Such dressing don't deserve the name ; 
My head, with all these curls and plaster, 
Looks like the very devil, master." 
The barber, in a humble tone, 
Replied, " Dear sir, the fault's your own, 
You bade me view your face with care, 
And to your looks adapt your hair." 



O be a man, and let proud reason tread 
In triumph on each rebel passion's head. 



168 TALES AND 

THE HARD-HEARTED LANDLORD. 

In Ormond's garret, near proud Hudson's stream, 
Resided once a fond contented pair : 
The youthful Edwin, just in wedlock join'd 
To the dear object of his boyish love, 
The fair Amelia. Though their humble hopes 
Were bounded by necessity's demand, 
They were but barely realized ; and want 
Would sometimes knock, but never dared intrude. 
Yet still industry, by affection urged, 
With frugal management, and sprightly health, 
Secured them comfort and domestic peace; 
Each homely meal receiving higher zest, 
From being earn'd before it was enjoy'd. 

One year roll'd round, and in their favour left 
A trifling balance, after all demands 
Were satisfied with scrupulous exactness. 
Sacred treasure ! for one fond event 
Now hastening on, the consecrated boon 
Was joyfully reserved ; while smiling hope 
Lent double vigour to the daily task 
Which fed the pair, and saved the little fund. 

But, ah ! relentless fate had woes in store 
Unmerited by virtue such as theirs. 
The tender moment, destined to complete 
Their little plan of happiness, arrived ; 
But only came to blast their fondest hopes. 



RECITATIONS. 169 

The poor Amelia, after nameless pangs, 
That push'd her to the precipice of fate, 
And left her trembling on its dizzy verge, 
Usher'd to light, but not to life, a babe. 

Edwin, distracted, o'er the sufferer hung, 
As though his loved Amelia's wasting life 
Was with the web of his existence wove. 
Night after night, and day succeeding day, 
His eyes estranged from sleep, his frame from ra 
He watch'd her fading form, and by her couch, 
Entranced in speechless agony, remained. 

Physicians, nurses, nostrums, fuel, food, 
And all the nameless calls of sickness, soon 
Exhausted Edwin's little frugal store, 
And nought but want, disease, and deep despair, 
Remain'd the inmates of his drear abode. 
The few utensils of domestic use 
Their humble means afforded, one by one, 
Were sacrificed to stern relentless want ; 
Till the poor couch on which Amelia lay 
(The scene of all his joys and all his woes) 
Alone remain'd of Edwin's worldly wealth. 

'Twas at this crisis, while the husband stood, 
Absorb'd in grief, beside the senseless fair, 
His landlord entered. Ormond, who could count 
The annual tribute of an hundred rents ; 
Ormond, whose coffers groan'd with their contents, 

15 



170 TALES AND 

Came to demand the recent quarter's due ! 

The heart-broke mourner raised his humid eyes 

And threw them round the desolated room, 

Then, pointing to the melancholy bed, 

Bade savage Ormond view his little all. 

" Ha! swindling wretch!" the human monster cried, 

" Your goods embezzled, and myself unpaid ! 

Thus every year some cursed loss like this 

Have I to meet: but you shall not escape." 

" Forbear!" cries Edwin, " and respect my grief! 

This scene is sacred to despair and silence. 

Let me but catch Amelia's parting breath, 

Close her dear eyes, and give a farewell kiss, 

Then, wretch ! dispose of Edwin as you please." 

" What little your dishonesty has left," 

Ormond replies, " this moment shall secure ; 

Your bed is mine !" A marshal, at his beck, 

Entered the room, and both approach'd the couch. 

Edwin, whose spirit sorrow had subdued, 

Entreated, prayed, and on his knees implored 

A little respite — but, alas ! in vain ! 

With savage coolness, they commenced the task — 

Amelia, writhing in the pangs of death, 

They placed, ungently, on the cheerless floor, 

Secured their prey, and saw the sufferer die ! 

POETRY. 

Music's fair sister — for behold in each, 

Are nameless graces which no methods teach, 

And which a master's hand alone can reach. 



RECITATIONS. 171 

DOCTOR STUAMONHTM. 

Air — Nothing at all, 

A last and a lapstone, were once my delight, 
And I sung while I hammered, from morning till night; 
But all the day's earnings, at eve, I would spend, 
Till the thread of my credit was brought to an end. 

Spoken. 
For 1 was up to a thing or two, and loved fun ; passed the night 
in reciting Shakspeare at the ale-house, and kept myself awake 
the next day, by beating time with the hammer, while I sung — 

Make a death, cut a stick, high time I tramp'd, 

Rise again, tick again, credit new vamp'd. 

2 

I next taught the gamut, the sharps, and the flats, 

To a nasal-twang'd bass, and a treble of cats ; 

Till my private duet with a miss, got abroad, 

Which chang'd the key note, and produced a discord. 

Spoken. 
A little love affair, that ran counter to my wishes, and induced 
some slanderous tongues to pronounce the whole tenor of my 
conduct to be thorough bass. So, without venturing a da capo, I 
pocketed the slur, leapt the bar with a quick movement, and left 
the fiats to harmonize as they could; for all the gossips had de- 
creed that their daughters should have nothing more to do with my 

Fa, sol, la; fa, sol, la; fa, sol, la, me ; 

Hop a twig, such a rig ought not to be. 
3 
A travelling merchant I quickly became, 
With a new stock in trade, a new dress, and new name; 
And I bartered my goods with such exquisite grace, 
That I left a fair mourner in ever place. 

Spoken. 
" O Tabitha, what will become of me ! The dear sweet Mr. 
Rover, (for that was my travelling name,) my dear sweet Mr. Ro- 



172 TALES AND 

ver, the pedler, is gone, and perhaps 1 shall never see him again. 

dear !" •« Your dear sweet Mr. Rover, indeed ! I'd have you 
to know, cousin Keziah, that he is my dear sweet Mr. Rover, and 
he has left me something to remember him by." — " O the base, 
wicked deceiver ! He has left me something too." Thus would 
they sympathize with each other, or tear caps for poor Rover, 
while I was unconsciously preparing a similar mine to spring in 
the next village ; or jogging quietly along the road, inviting every 
one to buy my 

Dutch ovens, cullenders, dippers and pans, 

Broaches and buckles, with ear-rings and fans. 

4 

A schoolmaster, next, with a visage severe, 

Board, lodging and washing, and twelve pounds a year, 

For teaching the rustics to spell, and to read 

The New-England Primer, the Psalter and Creed. 

Spoken. 
You must know, that I undertook to hammer a little learning 
through the calfskin'd pates of seventy or eighty square-toed, 
leather- headed numskulls. But after vainly trying the experi- 
ment at both ends of the patients, I lost my own patience, and my 
school into the bargain, and was glad to make a precipitate retreat 
with a whole skin ; and this so forcibly reminded me of my mu- 
sical scrape, that 1 struck up the old chorus of 

Fa, sol, la ; fa, sol, la ; fa, sol, la, me ; 

Hop a twig, such a rig ought not to be. 

5 

1 then became preacher without any call, 

When a sweet village lass came to hear brother Paul ; 
And told her experience o'er with such grace, 
That I gave the dear creature an ardent embrace. 

Spoken. 
There was the devil to pay, and poor I once more in the voc- 
ative. But, I made my escape to the back- woods, singing my old 
Crispin ditty 

Make a death, cut a stick, high time I tramp'd, 

Rise again, tick again, credit new vamp'd. 



RECITATIONS. 173 

And now a physician, with cock'd hat and wig, 
I can feel ladies' pulses, look wise, and talk big; 
With a fine ruffled shirt, and good coat to my back, 
I pluck the poor geese, while the ducks exclaim quack ! 

Spoken. 
" O Doctor, I am so glad you are come. I have such a consarned 
beating of the heart, that 1 can hardly draw my breath. Oh !" 
" Let me see your tongue, Miss." — " My tongue I Law souls, 
Doctor, what in the world has the tongue to do with the heart ?" 
44 In general, Miss, not much ; but your case is an exception." 
44 An exception ! O goody gracious ! now, you don't say so ; is an 
exception a dangerous disorder, Doctor?" " Not at all danger- 
ous, Miss. An application of stramonium externally, and copi- 
ous draughts of catnip tea internally, will soon restore you." — 
The lady's heart becomes composed, I pocket my fee, and make 
my exit, singing 

Feel the pulse, smell the cane, look at the tongue, 

Touch the gold, praise the old, flatter the young. 



RAISING THE WIND. 

Spoken by a Player, on the night of his Benefit, 

It's ever been the study of mankind, 
In every station", how to raise the wind ; 
And who attempts it with the least address, 
Is oft rewarded with the most success ; 
As many a novice, by a lucky throw, 
Has foil'd the science of a veteran foe. 

Raising the wind, however, I'll engage, 
Is not confined to climate, sex, or age ; 
But is, in fact, the universal trade, 
Of infant, parent, widow, wife, and maid. 

15* 



174 TALES AND 

Young master Fretful, spoil'd by fond mamma, 
Espies a treasure in the sweetmeat jar ; 
And, if refused to taste the luscious store, 
Tunes up his pipes to a melodious roar. 

" Give him a rod!" the angry father cries; 
" Nay, nay! my dear !" \he tender spouse replies, 
" You'll break poor Jacky's heart, or spoil his eyes; 
'Tis hard to cross so innocent a wish — 
Here, Jacky, take some, on this china dish ; 
Here, deary, wipe your eyes — papa's unkind" — 
Jack smiles again — for he has raised the wind. 

Tom Rustic throws the hoe indignant down, 
Assumes his Sunday suit, and comes to town, 
Obtains employment in a dry-goods store, 
And soon forgets whate'er he knew before : 
Commences dandy in his dress and air, 
And learns to smoke and gamble, drink and swear ; 
Transform'd in manners, dialect, and feature, 
Till his own parents scarcely know the creature. 

" I say — Ned — demme — where was you last night ? 
We'd fun enough at Cato's — blame me tight ! 
I bilk'd the driver, too — ha, ha ! keep dark, 
Poor yellow Billy, down there by the Park : 
You know that Hudson note — well, don't you think, 
The fellow took it — gave the change in chink ; 
The rascal certainly was drunk or blind, 
But, ha! ha! ha! egad, I raised the wind." 



KECITATIONS. 175 

Sir Richard Rake, once lord of boundiess wealth, 
A bankrupt now, in fortune, fame, and health, 
Becomes enamour'd of the widow Dash, 
Possess'd of many thousand charms — in cash; 
His passion knows no bounds — he kneels and sighs, 
While his whole soul is beaming from his eyes. 

" Divine, angelic creature ! Here I vow, 
This bosom never glow'd with love till now; 
O, then, be kind, and grant my ardent prayer, 
Nor doom a faithful lover to despair ! 
Your matchless charms" — 

"One! Sir Richard, hush! 
Such high-flown praises really make me blush ; 
Fled are the trifling charms which once were mine, 
Though, to be sure, I'm only thirty- 



" Nay, hear me, dearest madam — though I prize, 
Above all earthly good, those beauteous eyes ! 
It is your mental charms that touch my heart, 
That cultivated mind, that heavenly part, 
So high above the reach of flattery's art." 

" And do you really think so?" " Shall I swear?" 
" O no, I would not drive you to despair — 
There — there's my hand — I cannot be unkind." 
'Tis thus our fortune-hunters raise the wind. 

But time would fail me, and your patience too, 
Should I this boundless subject thus pursue, 



176 TALES AND 

And show the various arts by which mankind, 
Of every grade, contrive to raise the wind. 
The quack effects it, when and where he pleases. 
By advertising cures for all diseases ; 
The politician gives his friends a lift, 
Then takes the fattest office in their gift ; 
The Wall-street broker shaves you in a note, 
The humble showman, with a learned goat. 
A more adventurous soul will raise a breeze 
By seal-clad natives brought from over seas ; 
While lottery venders, thinking fortune blind, 
Assume her functions, and so raise the wind. 

Not so your humble servant, whose sole wish 
Was to prepare an intellectual dish 
To treat his friends — and if he cannot raise 
A gale of approbation in his praise, 
Yet still he hopes his well-intended toils 
Will meet the gentler sunshine of your smiles. 



THE FIRST OF MAY. 

Or, the City of New-York in an uproar. 

The curtain rises, and the play begins — 
Here at the corner, screened by oaken post, 
The muse shall take her stand, and view the scene. 
At every door, behold the ready cart 
Receive its cumbrous load ; the horse throws round 
A glance of meek compassion, which to me 



RECITATIONS. 177 

Speaks in a language, plain as brutes can speak, 
" What a poor fool is man !" His driver swears, 
Wives scold, dogs bark, cats mew, and children cry, 
Pots break, chairs crack, pans ring, and jarring notes, 
Of harshest discord, rise on every side. 

There goes a matron with her looking-glass, 
A legacy from mother to her child 
For several generations, and she'll trust 
None to remove it but her careful self. 
But better had she stowed it on the car 
Where all her baggage rides ; for fate has doom'd, 
(By sudden contact with a porter's load) 
To dash the sacred treasure from her hand 
On the unchristian pavements, where she views 
Her scattered hopes in rude disorder spread, 
Reflecting houses, passengers, and skies. 
Here a full barrow, piled with feather-beds, 
Pushed by a sturdy porter^ runs you down, 
Ere you can shun the danger ; yonder goes 
The sweating bearer of a precious load, 
Baskets of china-ware, and sweetmeat jars, 
And the cold relics of some late repast. 
And here a lumbering cart moves slowly on, 
Piled high with bureaus, bedsteads, tables, desks, 
Chairs, cradle, rubbish, wash-tubs, kettles, pots, 
Old empty barrels, benches, trammels, pans, 
The fire utensils, carpet-rags, old books, 
And musty pamphlets, oil jugs, bottles, frames, 
Mats, brooms, Dutch-ovens, gridirons, griddles, jacks, 
Trunks, piggins, toasters, pickle-pots, and all. 



178 TALES AND 

ADDRESS 

For the Opening of the new Park Theatre — Spoken by 
Mrs. Barnes, in character of Melpomene. 

What glorious vision bursts upon my view ! 
Does fancy mock me ? No, 'tis true ! 'tis true ! 
No false illusive dream of past delight, 
But blest realities, salute my sight : 
The ruthless fiend of ruin is displaced, 
By beauty, fashion, elegance, and taste. 
Thrill'd with such rapture as when first I press'd 
The infant Shakspeare to this throbbing breast, 
I hail the scene, my temple and my home, 
While rays of beauty light the vaulted dome. 
Despair, avaunt ! the storm of grief is past, 
And joy's bright sunshine gilds the scene at last ! 

Here, where the tragic muse has mourn'd so long 
The sleep of passion, and the death of song ; 
Where o'er the urn of blighted hopes she hung, 
With vacant, beamless eye, and silent tongue ; 
Whi* * shapeless heaps of ruins smoked around, 
And desolation mark'd the blacken'd ground — 
Here, from its ashes, see her temple burst, 
With grace and splendour that surpass the first. 
So from its parent's dust the phoenix springs, 
With Eden's richest plumage in his wings ; 
Thus dazzling soars, unrivall'd, and alone, 
His age a century, and a world his own. 



RECITATIONS. I7f 

Ye generous freemen, who in danger stand 
The shield and bulwark of our happy land ; 
Who, mid the sweeter luxuries of peace, 
Behold your greatness with your arts increase ; 
Whose liberal minds throw lustre on the age, 
O still protect and patronise the stage ; 
That bright auxiliar in refinement's cause, 
Which raised proud Greece to what at length she was, 
Invited forth, and scattered, unconfined, 
The boundless treasures of a Shakspeare's mind ; 
And taught the vulgar barbarous sons of strife 
The gentler courtesies that sweeten life. 

Ye freeborn fair, who grace Columbia's clime, 
Whose bosoms glow with sentiments sublime ; 
Whose smiles inspire the actions they reward, 
Whose tears embalm the virtues they applaud ; 
Still let those smiles and tears alternate prove 
That wit can charm, that sympathy can move. 
And while your hearts celestial truth revere, 
Still condescend to trace her picture here ; 
Still let your presence consecrate the art 
That holds a mirror to the human heart ; 
That shows the black and hideous form of vice, 
And raises virtue's worth beyond a price ; 
That culls the fruits of fancy's wide domains, 
That calls from poesy her sweetest strains ; 
That teaches young affection what alone 
Can make a virtuous, manly heart, her own ; 



180 RECITATIONS. 

And shows to art how vain are all its wiles, 
That he who wins must first deserve your smiles. 

Columbians, all ! ye patriots, and ye fair, 
Still let the drama claim your generous care ; 
Cherish' d by you, it will the champion prove 
Of freedom, virtue, and the arts you love ; 
So shall this city, by refinement blest, 
Become the pride and mistress of the west ; 
So shall your country rise to greater fame, 
And endless glory gild Columbia's name. 



MORNING. 

An Extract from Beasts at Law. 

The morn, in purple glories dight 5 
Now burst upon the rear of Night, 
Who, gathering up his lurid vest, 
Is swift retreating towards the west. 
All nature wakes from soft repose, 
The flowers their dewy breasts unclose, 
Where insect tribes their votaries pay, 
And sip their nectared sweets away. 
The birds commence their matin song, 
And streams of music float along : 
The herds their grassy couch forsake, 
To crop the mead, or taste the lake, 
And all commence the infant day, 
As toil or pleasure points the way. 



MELODIES. 

RELIGIOUS, MOXLAI., AND ELEGIAC 



SIN NO MORE. 

A song of gratitude begin, 
To praise the God who saves from sin ; 
Who marks the penitential tear, 
And deigns the contrite sigh to hear; 
Who whispers hope, when we our sins deplore- — 
" Thy God condemns thee not — offend no more." 

But ah ! such love can ne'er be sung — 
Such boundless grace ! — by mortal tongue ; 
For e'en celestial minstrels deem 
Their highest skill below the theme; 
Yet mortals can, with gratitude, adore 
The God who pardons all that sin no more. 

Dear Lord ! is this condition all — 
To fight the foes that wrought our fall ? 
Thus arm'd with hope, I'll quell a host, 
Nor let so cheap a heaven be lost ; 
O then repeat the sweet assurance o'er, 
" Thy God will not condemn thee — sin no more." 

16 



182 MELODIES. 

PHILOSOPHY AtfD RELIGION. 

There is a Philosophy, hollow, unsound, 
To matter confining its false speculations ; 

Whose flight is confined within Nature's dull round, 
Its pinions the web of sophistic persuasions. 

And there's a Philosophy truly divine, 
That traces effects up to spiritual causes, 

Determines the link of the chain where they join. 
And soars to an infinite height ere it pauses. 

That meanly debases the image of God, 
To rank with the brutes in the scale of creation. 

This raises the tenant of light from the sod, 
And bears him to heaven, his primitive station. 

Hail, science of Angels ! Theosophy, hail ! 

That shows us the regions of bliss by reflection ; 
Removes from creation's broad mirror the vail, 

Where spirit and matter appear in connexion. 

It breaks on the soul in an ocean of light, 

She starts from her lethargy, stretches her pinions* 

Beholds a new world bursting forth on her sight, 
And, soaring in ecstacy, claims her dominions. 

A sense of original, dignified worth, 
Her bosom expands with sublime exultation; 

She tastes immortality even on earth, 
In light that eclipses the sun's emanation. 



RELIGIOUS. 183 

Be sages and pedants to nature confined, 

As the bat darkly flutters in Luna's pale presence ; 

111 soar, like the eagle, through regions of mind, 
In the blaze of that Sun which is truth in its essence. 



AND DID X SAY. 

And did I say, my lyre should sleep, 

Because no laurels deck'd it ; 
That I no more its chords would sweep, 
Because its lay is valued cheap, 

And all the world neglect it ? 
I did — but felt not then the flame 

Which now within me blazes, 
Nor reck'd of His eternal claim, 
Who gave the lyre to sing His name, 

And utter forth His praises. 

But now that lyre shall sleep no more, 

Nor wake to earthly measures ; 
But every strain it warbles o'er, 
Shall that Eternal Source adore, 

Whence flow immortal pleasures. 
No more I prostitute its lay, 

To subjects evanescent; 
But sing those scenes of endless day, 
Where angel harps in rapture play, 

And praises flow incessant. 



184 MELODIES. 

WEEPING MARY. 

Imitated from the Latin, in the Catholic Hymn-book. 

Weeping Mary, bathed in sorrow. 
Linger'd near the scene of horror, 

Where the dying Saviour hung; 
From whose bursting heart arising, 
Groans of anguish agonizing, 

Floated o'er His fevered tongue ! 

O what sorrow, deep, unbounded, 
That maternal bosom wounded, 

Once the Saviour's couch of rest ! 
How she wept to see Him languish, 
How she trembled for the anguish 

Labouring in His guiltless breast ! 

Who could witness, without weeping, 
Gushing streams of sorrow sweeping 

Down the mother's pallid cheek ? 
Who, with bosom unrelenting, 
Could behold her thus lamenting, 

Looking what no tongue could speak ? 

While such pangs as fiends invented, 
Still her suffering Son tormented, 

Scorn and bruises, stripes and death * f 
She beheld Him thus expiring, 
Human friends in fear retiring, 

Whilst in groans He spent His breath ! 



RELIGIOUS. 185 



Matchless mercy ! love amazing ! 
Far above our feeble praising, 

Far beyond our humble lays ; 
May its influence never vary, 
Till my heart, like that of Mary, 

Glow with a seraphic blaze. 

Gracious Saviour, now in glory ! 
Be this sad affecting story 

Deeply on thy soul imprest ! 
May the scene of such affliction, 
Bring the hardest heart conviction, 

Melt the most obdurate breast ! 



EPITAPHS. 

O who, that beheld her delectable smile, 
When lent to the hopes of her parents awhile, 
And read in the glance of her infantile eye 
A soul of affection that never can die; 
Attended the silvery tones of her tongue, 
And fancied a seraph had spoken or sung ; 
Survey'd her dear form, as the model of beauty, 
When moving in acts of affection and duty — 
But ready assent to this precept has given : 
Of such is the kingdom of Jesus in Heaven. 



Sacred to Virtue, let this marble stand, 
And time forbear the tablet to destroy, 

Whose lay disarms the king of terrors' hand— 
" Death is the gate to everlasting joy " 

16* 



186 MELODIES. 

THE INCARNATION. 

Air— New Sabbath. 

O for a Seraph's golden lyre, 

With chords of light, and tones of fire, 

To sing that wondrous love 
Which brought a Deity below, 
To save an erring race from wo, 

And give them joys above. 

O may that love inspire my soul, 
Till such ecstatic numbers roll, 

As are by angels given: 
To tell Redemption's wondrous plan, 
How Heaven descended down to man, 

That man might rise to Heaven. 

His creatures fell — no pitying eye, 
No powerful arm to save, was nigh, 

Or aid our feeble powers ; 
He saw— He came — He fought alone, 
And conquered evils not his own, 

That we might conquer ours. 

Temptation's thorny path He trod, 
In form, a man — in soul, a God, 

And trod the path alone ; 
In vain the direst fiends assail'd, 
His mighty arm of power prevail'd, 

And hell was overthrown. 



RELIGIOUS. 187 

He pass'd the dismal vale of death — 
The human form resign' d its breath, 

And like a mortal died ; 
But death was crush'd beneath His feet, 
He rose a God and Man complete, 

His human glorified. 

Amazing mercy ! — love immense ! 
Surpassing every human sense, 

Since time and sense began ! 
That man might shun the realms of pain, 
And know and love his God again, 

His God became a man ! 



EPITAPH. 

She is not here— 'tis but her veil of clay 
That moulders into dust beneath this stone ; 

Mary herself, in realms of endless day, 
Has put a robe of fadeless glory on. 

This monumental urn is not designed 

To tell of beauties withering in the tomb ; 

Her brightest charms were centred in a mind 
Which still survives, and will forever bloom. 

Yet may this marble teach the solemn truth, 
That virtue only can true bliss impart ; 

While neither friendship, beauty, health, nor youth, 
Can shield the breast from death's insatiate dart. 



188 MELODIES. 

NEW JERUSALEM. 

Air — Holham, 

Rich in mercy, Jesus reigns, 
Heaven owns no other king ; 

Crown Him, mortals, in your strains, 
.While His matchless grace you sing. 

Angels wake their loftier lays, 
Kindled from celestial fires, 

Humbler spirits hid His praise 
Sweetly flow from silver lyres. 

Mortals ! catch the pleasing strain, 

Gratitude demands the song — 
Jesus builds His church again, 

Where your Babel stood so long. 
Truth divine her wall supports, 

Love has paved her streets with gold ; 
See her jasper towers and courts, 

Gates of pearl that never fold. 

Pilgrims ! enter and rejoice — 

Here your Saviour holds his throne ; 
'Tis the City of His choice, 

'Tis the Church He calls His own. 
Precious gems, on every side, 

Lend new lustre to her charms — 
'Tis the Lamb's celestial Bride, 

Smiling in her husband's arms. 



RELIGIOUS. 189 

REGENERATION, 

Blessed is the man who walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, <fec— Psalm i. 1, 2, 3. 

How happy the man who discards from his breast 
The lusts and the passions which daily molest ; 
Who heeds not their counsel or softest persuasion. 
But treats them as foes upon every occasion. 

Tho' the sunshine of peace such a bosom illume, 
Or nights of temptation involve it in gloom ; 
Whatever his state be, with calm resignation, 
He looks to the Word of his God for salvation. 

And the Word of his God, like a river of truth, 
Gives each young-budding virtue the vigour of youth ; 
While practical love is still tempered by reason, 
As the green leaflet decks the ripe fruit in its season. 

Thus regeneration proceeds from the Word, 
If we combat our evils, and trust in the Lord ; 
Then prosper, dear Saviour, each humble endeavoui, 
And thine be the glory, for ever and ever ! 



BE WISE! 

The graver moralist resumes his theme, 
To wake the soul from error's fatal dream ; 
To show the path which leads to solid bliss, 
The happy goal which slaves of passion miss. 






190 MELODIC. 

REDEMPTION. 

Redemption claims our highest lays, 
To Jesus Christ belongs the praise ; 
The lofty theme should fire the soul, 
And music's richest numbers roll. 
Our blest Redeemer is the God we own, 
Then swell the chorus to His name alone. 

Unseen, unknown ? and unreveal'd, 
No creature's eye our God beheld, 
Till He the wondrous work begun, 
And showed the Father in the Son ; 
Jehovah now as Jesus Christ is known, 
Then swell the chorus to Ins name alone 

From heaven His pitying eye surveyed 
The ruin sin on earth had made ; 
He saw His creatures run the road 
Which led from happiness and God ; 
He saw, and saved — the work was all his own, 
Then swell the chorus to His name alone. 

Swift from supernal realms of day, 
Seraphic minstrels wing'd their way, 
To hail the great Redeemer's birth, 
And publish peace to men on earth : 
" To God give glory" — sung the joyous throng, 
Let men and angels still repeat the song. 

Alas ! no human accents can 
Express the love of God to man ; 



RELIGIOUS. 191 

Who, to redeem a sinful worm. 
Assumed the human mind and form ; 

Was born a man, that man might be re-born ! 

Then let us praise Him on His natal morn. 



BRIGHT IS THE WORD. 

Arranged and published by E. Riley. 

Bright is the Word, 'tis light divine, 
A Sun that will forever shine, 
To light us o'er the pathless sand, 
From Egypt to the promised land. 
Then swell the anthem to its author's praise, 
Who through the world extends its cheering rays. 

Clear is the word, whose living stream, 

Reflecting love's celestial beam, 

Thro' every sterile desert rolls, 

Imparting life to dying souls ; 
The tree of life adorns its verdant brink, 
It flows to all — and all may freely drink. 

Then let the grateful anthem rise 
To God, the only good and wise, 
Who bids the heathen hear his voice, 
And in his boundless love rejoice. 
The light shall spread, the bounteous river flow, 
Till all the earth a Saviour's love shall know. 



192 > MELODIES. 

THE NATIVITY. 

Air — Hail to the Chief. 

Strike the loud anthem, to hail the blest morning, 

Jesus the Saviour an infant appears ; 
Lo ! in the East, a new day-spring is dawning ! 
Hark ! the glad tidings which sound in our ears ! 
On this auspicious morn, 
To us a child is born, 
Glory to God in the highest be given ; 
Hail our Redeemer's birth — 
Good will and peace on earth — 
Man shall again have conjunction with Heaven. 

Hark ! 'twas the voice of a seraph that sounded — 

Shepherds of Judea start with surprise, 
While, with a radiance of glory surrounded, 
Troops of bright angels descend from the skies. 
Now loud the choral strain 
Swells round the happy plain, 
Glory to God in the highest be given; 
Hail our Redeemer's birth — 
Good will and peace on earth — 
Man shall again have conjunction with Heaven. 

Hail to the Saviour, descending from Heaven, 
To build him a kingdom which never shall cease ; 

The Child that is born and the Son that is given, 
Is God everlasting, the great Prince of Peace. 



RELIGIOUS. 193 

Praise Him with grateful lays, 

Pour forth the soul in praise ; 
The government rests on His shoulders alone : 

In Him the Godhead dwells 

Which has subdued the hells ; 
And God the Creator as Jesus is known. 



SEEK YE THE LORD. 

Ye sons of men, come, seek the Lord, 
While yet He may be found ; 

He'll meet you in His holy Word, 
Where love and truth abound. 

Call on Him while He yet is near 

To hear a sinner's call; 
A humble penitential tear 

Will never vainly fall. 

Let man forsake the sinner's road, 
Discard each vicious thought, 

Return to Jesus, as his God, 
And be by Jesus taught ; 

Then will the Lord his mercy show, 

His pardon freely give ; 
Then man his only good will know, 

And in that knowledge live. 
17 



194 MELODIES. 

GOB IN HIS TEMPLE. 

Music by E. C. Riley. 

God is in His holy temple, 

Sons of earth, be silent now ; 
Hither let the saints assemble, 

And before His footstool bow. 
Lo, He's present with us ever, 

When assembled in His name ; 
Aiding every good endeavour, 

Guiding every humble aim. 

God is in His holy temple, 

'Tis each renovated mind ; 
Where the purer thoughts assemble, 

While the base are cast behind. 
Every earthly, low affection, 

Long opposed, is silent now ; 
Every passion, in subjection, 

Must at Wisdom's altar bow. 

God is in His holy temple, 

'Tis the church He calls His own, 
'Tis the city where assemble 

All who worship Him alone. 
New-Jerusalem the holy 

Is the city of our God, 
There our Saviour governs solely 

With the balance and the rod. 



RELIGIOUS. 195 

God is in His holy temple, 

Tis the body of our Lord ; 
Infidels may doubt and tremble, 

We have learn'd it from His Word ; 
From the Word which wrought creation, 

From that Word which flesh became, 
Which alone can give salvation — 

God and Jesus are the same. 



EPITAPH ON A CHILD, 

In life's parterre, what numerous germs disclose 

The loveliest tints, the sweetest blushing dyes ! 
The enraptured florist views the opening rose, 
Screens it from every ruder wind that blows, 

And richer future charms in embryo espies. 
But, ah ! the spoiler stalks abroad, whose breath 
Is pestilence, whose chilling touch is death ! 

With merciless hand he crops the flower, 
And all its promised beauty flies, 

It falls beneath his baneful power, 

Its sweets are scattered in an hour ; 
It shrinks, it withers, droops, and dies. 
Yet, mourn not, ye, whose fostering love and care 

To culture a beloved plant has fail'd ; 
'Tis but transplanted to a garden, where 
Eternal summer smiles ; 'twill flourish these 

In living hues, by spoilers unassail'd. 



196 MELODIES. 

THE WIDOW. 

We parted : Oh ! it was a painful hour ! 

Not that I thought him lost to me for ever, 
I knew that mighty love's resistless power 

Would re-unite us, ne'er again to sever ; 
For we are wedded — not as thoughtless mortals, 

Incited only by terrestrial views, 
Enter that sacred fane's mysterious portals. 

Our souls are wedded ; that assurance strews 

My widowed path with flowers of fadeless hues. 

Yet is the briefest parting hard ; for love, 

Deprived of wisdom, is a rayless sun ; 
A summer midnight, when no star above 

Throws down one cheering ray; 'tis good, alone, 
Without her partner truth ; or it resembles 

Warm melting charity, intent to bless, 
When, without faith to guide her steps, she trembles 

O'er the dark scene of human wretchedness, 

Wondering if Heaven permits or wills distress. 

'Twas hard to part ; and while his spirit hovered 

On the cold lips my kisses could not warm, 
I prayed and murmured ; but, alas ! when covered 

By the dark pall, they bore that manly form 
To its cold grave, I lost the pang of sorrow, 

For reason fled, and I'd a dreamless sleep; 
But woke, in anguish, on the coming morrow, 

No more to murmur, pray, or even weep, 

For grief is ever silent when it's deep. 






RELIGIOUS. 197 

Humbled to earth, my self-upbraiding soul, 

With mental tongue, exclaim'd, Thy will be done ! 
When, through my bosom, such a feeling stole 
As mocks the power of language ; it was one 
Of those delicious thrills of nameless rapture 
We feel, when conscience, Heav'n, and friends approve ; 
When earthly joys have lost their power to capture ; 
For Reuben's spirit whispered, " Peace, sweet dove, 
We're joined for ever, in Conjugial Love,* 



TO THE REV. J. HARGROVE, 

On hearing him preach on the Pleasures of Religion. 

When o'er the sacred desk, with modest grace 
And lowly meekness, bends thy reverend form, 

While the great theme that animates thy face, 
Bids every bosom glow with transport warm — 

How could I listen to the heavenly theme, 
Forget the pleasures that entice me here, 

Think human life a transitory dream, 

And wish, with thee, to gain a higher sphere ! 

Go on, thou champion in the cause of truth, 
Armed by thy Saviour, still the foe engage ; 

Still charm from vice the steps of ardent youth, 
And strew with rosy hopes the path of age. 

* From the Latin term ctvjugiale, a higher decree of union than is undei 
Stood by the term conjugal, which is from the Latin word conjugate. 



198 MELODIES. 

THE WORLD OF MIND. 

First day of Creation. 

There is a world — the world of mind, 
By neither time nor space confined ; 
And when we cease in flesh to dwell, 
That world will be our heaven or hell. 

By fallen nature, 'tis, alas ! 
A rude, chaotic, shapeless mass ; 
Devoid of goodness, truth, or light, 
And veil'd in blackest shades of night 

But He who gave creation birth, 
Can re-create this mental earth ; 
For this His spirit, like a dove, 
Broods o'er our secret thoughts in love 

If we consent to be renewed, 

And wish our evil lust subdued; 

" Let there be light," He says, and straight 

We see our low disordered state. 

Then do we seek to know the Lord, 
Receive instruction from His word ; 
While He divides the day from night, 
And we proceed from shade to light. 

Lord, let thy spirit, like a dove, 
Brood over all our souls in love ; 
Then give us light our state to see, 
And we will give the praise to thee. 



RELIGIOUS. 199 

THE WORLD OF KIND. 

Second day of Creation. 

Our God can re-create, 

And form the soul anew ; 
And all who will co-operate, 

Shall find His promise true. 

When we permit His light 

Our evils to reprove, 
And then those evils boldly fight, 

He will the whole remove. 

Though hard the contest prove, 

And doubtful seem the fray, 
He hovers o'er us with His love, 

Till we have gain'd the day. 

The Lord will then create 

A firmament sublime, 
Celestial thoughts to separate 

From those of sense and time. 

We then no more believe 

The work to be our own ; 
But all of good that we receive 

Ascribe to God alone. 

Thus will a second birth 

Form heaven within the soul, 
And man, a new created earth, 

In order's orbit roll. 



£00 MELODIES. 

MIRIAItf'S SONG. 

Air — Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea. 

Sing to Jehovah an anthem of praise, 
And tell of His glory in rapturous lays ; 
Sing of His triumphs when demons assaulted, 
When hosts of infernal s His human assail'd, 
The hells were subdued, and the Victor exalted — 
Like man He was tempted — like God He prevail'd. 
Sing to Jehovah an anthem of praise, 
And tell of His triumphs in rapturous lays. 

Praise Him, ye ransomed— He conquered for you, 
Who fled from your sins, and beheld them pursue ; 
Whelming your spirits in deep tribulation, 
But Jesus was present, a pillar of fire, 
And led you in safety through seas of temptation, 
In which you beheld each assailant expire. 
Sing to Jehovah an anthem of praise, 
And tell of His triumphs in rapturous lays. 

Praise Him who conquer'd our spiritual foes, 
When fierce, like an army of horsemen, they rose, 
Threatening again in their shackles to bind us ; 

Through billows of trouble He led us to shore, 
While the horse and his rider were founder'd behind us, 
O'erwhelm'd in the gulf, to assail us no more. 
Sing to Jehovah an anthem of praise, 
And tell of His triumphs in rapturous lays. 



RELIGIOUS. 201 

OPEN THIS DOOR. 

Air — New Sabbath, 

That God who calls the human mind, 
A temple for himself design'd, 

A house upon a rock — 
Assures us He will patient wait, 
In mercy, at the mental gate, 

And for admittance knock. 

Who hears the gracious call within, 
And draws the iron bolts of sin. 

Which barricade the door, 
Will banquet with a guest divine, 
On life-imparting food and wine, 

From Love's exhaustless store. 

Come, then, dear Saviour — be my guest, 
Knock louder at this flinty breast, 

And rouse me with thy voice ; 
Then will I struggle to remove 
The sins which now obstruct thy love, 

And in that love rejoice. 

Thou wilt not let me strive in vain — 
The gates of brass shall burst in twain, 

The iron bars shall fall ; 
Then will my soul thy temple be, 
Where I shall ever feast with thee, 

My God, my life, my all ! 



202 MELODIES! 

HOW SHALL I COME BEFORE HIM? 

How shall we sinners come before 

Our blessed Saviour's dazzling throne ; 

Or how acceptably adore 

The great redeeming God we own ? 

Shall fatlings on His altar burn, 

Or oil in bounteous rivers flow ? 
Will God be pleased with such return, 

For all the mighty debt we owe ? 

Or shall we burst the tenderest tie 
That binds the throbbing seat of sense, 

And with our body's offspring buy 
A pardon for our soul's offence ? 

Ah ! no — a humble, contrite heart, 

Is all the offering God requires ; 
Our only sacrifice, to part 

With evil loves and false desires. 

O let us, then, no longer stray, 

Along the dangerous paths we've trod ; 

For he has plainly show'd the way 
Which will conduct us back to God. 

'Tis but to regulate the mind 

By the pure precepts of his word ; 

To act with truth and love combined, 
And humbly imitate the Lord. 



RELIGIOUS. 203 

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

Air — Magdalen. 

Almighty God! 'tis right, 'tis just, 
That earthly frames should turn to dust; 
But, ah ! forgive the wishful tear, 
That would detain a spirit here. 

Go, gentle babe, to realms of bliss, 
The chastening rod we humbly kiss ; 
Thy Saviour calls thee home, my son, 
And let his holy will be done. 

Thy earthly form, now icy cold, 
Was framed in beauty's fairest mould ; 
But now, prepared by love divine, 
A fairer, brighter form is thine. 

Thy earthly parents loved thee well — 
So much, that language fails to tell ; 
But, ah ! our love was weak and poor, 
Thy heavenly Parent loves thee more. 

Here, thou wert tenderly caress'd, 
Upon a fond maternal breast ; 
But angel-nurses, forms of love, 
Shall now caress my babe above. 

Fain would paternal love have taught 
Thy little opening world of thought ; 
But we the pleasing task resign 
To heavenly schools, and books divine. 



204 MELODIES. 

'Twas all our thoughts and wishes still 
To guard our darling here from ill ; 
But that great God who call'd thee home, 
Has saved from greater ills to come. 

Then let us hush the rising sigh, 
And bid affliction's tear be dry ; 
Our child still lives, his sorrows o : er, 
Where we shall meet to part no more. 

There, shall the sweet maternal kiss, 
Increase his joy — enhance his bliss; 
There, through redeeming love and grace, 
The father shall his son embrace. 

Almighty God ! 'tis right, 'tis just, 
That earthly frames should turn to dust ; 
But, O the sweet, transporting truth — 
The soul shall bloom in endless youth. 



EPITAPH. 

This frail memorial cannot tell his worth, 
For brighter virtues seldom bloom on earth ; 
Nor in one heart such various beauties blend, 
As husband, father, mason, christian, friend. 
These duties done, to heaven his spirit bears 
The widow's blessing, and the orphan's prayers; 
For such his active charity has bless'd, 
And they must love him most who knew him best. 



ELEGIAC. 205 

A MONODY 

On the death of a highly-esteemed Friend.. .A. D. 1807. 

My lyre, which erst to friendship tuned, I woke 

In strains the sacred theme inspired, 
While with its flame the glowing chords were fired, 
Ah ! sad exchange ! the tie of friendship broke, 
By death dissolved, must make its sadder theme ! 
While every falling note with wo shall teem ! 
To Floriajs's early fate the muse shall pay 

Sincere affection's purest lay ; 
The emanation of a grief-fraught soul, 
The real feelings of an honest heart, 
Unfeign'd, and unadorn'd by art, 
Who all her paler hues from nature stole. 

Ye youths, ye virgin train, 
Whose eyes to his responsive smiled, 
When festive rites the hours beguiled, 
With me complain ! 
Me, whom the closer link of friendship join'd 
To his expanded heart — where truth, combined 
With every glowing grace, superior shone ; 
With me commingle sympathetic tears, 
While faithful Memory shall own 
His worth, his virtues, past ! 
She bids retrace the journey of his years, 
Review the path, nor see a blemish cast. 



18 



206 MELODIES. 

Flush'd by the balmy spring of youth, he rose* 
In life's parterre, a flower of fairest hue ; 
Denied affection's fostering, pearly dew, 
Parental sunshine — yet his tints disclose 
Beauty internal — fragrance all his own ; 
Benevolence conspicuous shone, 
And nectared charity distill' d 
In grateful odours ! — Who beheld him bloom 

And yet their love withheld ? 
Who, could they have foreseen his early doom, 

But would have shed anticipated tears ; 
Withheld the victim from the insatiate tomb, 
If prayers could hold, for many, many years? 

But prayers, nor youth, nor virtue, nought avail 
Against diseases, ministers of death ! 
The tyrant claims our forfeit breath, 
And who his claim withstands ? Entreaties fail ! 
One gift alone can make us scorn the foe, 

Though not his shaft evade ; 
The heavenly gift our Saviour brought below, 
Religion, sweet, celestial maid ! 
By thee sustained, the darkened path grows bright 
And leads to realms of everlasting light ! 
Cease, then, my tears, to flow, 
Cease, sighs, to murmur wo, 
This peerless guide my friend secured, 
While he the ills of life endured ; 
Cheered by a seraph's song, 
The youth she led along 



ELEGIAC. 207 

The gloomy path— its roughness fled, 

And Terror hid his grisly head ; 

The gate of Paradise displayed 

Cherubs in robes of light arrayed : 
And songs re-echoed through the empyreal dome, 
As heavenly minstrels hailed him welcome home ! 

But selfish sorrow will intrude — 
The loss is ours — and nature will be heard 
Till sorrow is subdued 

By cooler reason's unimpassioned sway ; 
The worth we loved, the virtues we revered, 

We must lament when torn away. 
So young, to fall ! but youth, as hoary age, 

Finds no respect ! The infant dies 
When scarcely entered on the stage ; 

His part to ope, and then to close his eyes. 
Some claim a longer scene, and bustle round 
Their little walk, with rant and sound ; 
The curtain drops, and they are seen no more ! 

Few labour onward through the tedious play 
Till life's allotted, farthest verge is o'er, 

Then fall like fruit when autumn melts away. 
Thus is it ordered, Order's Source to please ; 
Who will impeach His infinite decrees ? 

Granted, 'tis just — yet sympathy must weep- 
To see him hastening to the silent dead 
Without a kindred tear of sorrow shed ! 
Nor bosom where to fall asleep ! 
Nor hand to close his eyes ! 



208 MELODIES. 

Strangers that mournful task performed ! 
Yet strangers here were friends ; their tears, their sighs, 
From bosoms flowed by purest feelings warmed. 

Friends tied by nature could no more ; 

Nor more sincerely such a loss deplore. 

Might fond fraternal offices assuage 
The pangs of sore disease ? — these too denied ! 

For ah ! a brother still of lesser age, 
At distance languished, while his brother died ! 

No tender sister weeping o'er his bed ! 

No anxious father soothing with his love ! 
No mother ! God ! I touch a tender string ! 

My heart's acutest nerve — its vital thread ; 

Struck too unkindly, tears of crimson move, 
And wakened sorrow whets her blunted sting ! 

O grant, ye powers that rule the lives of all, 
If I am doomed, like him I mourn, to fall — 
Far from the bosom of my home, 
Where fate may call, and I may roam — 
O grant my wish — may hearts like those which bled 
O'er Florian's corse, mourn too for me ; 
Such be the strangers round my bed ; 
Such be the tears they shed. 
Whoe'er they be : 
Such be the sacred care my ashes find, 
When death has closed the scene : 
Such be the impression on the youthful mind, 
When followers round my grave convene ; 
But more than all — may I, like him, arise, 
And join my friend in worlds beyond the skies. 



ELEGIAC. 209 

A DIRGE, 

On the Deaths of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, 
July 4, 1826. 

The strains of joy no longer float, 
Or thrill upon our raptured ears, 

But Sorrow wakes her saddest note, 
And millions are dissolved in tears. 

A nation, clad in sable weeds, 

The dark habiliments of grief; 
A nation famed for matchless deeds, 

Weeps for a father and a chief. 

Columbia mourns, though not bereft 
Of all which makes existence dear, 

For blessings, joys, and hopes, are left, 
Which brighten in affliction's tear. 

Yet still she mourns — for they are gone, 
Whose wisdom raised her fame so high, 

Whose god-like acts her name adorn 
With honour that can never die. 

Who framed that bold, that dauntless chart, 
Which gave a mighty empire birth, 

Aroused to freedom every heart, 
And spread its influence thro' the earth. 



18* 



210 MELODIES. 

Who in her service laboured, both, 
And ask'd no recompense but this, 

To watch her greatness in its growth, 
Promote her fame, and share her bliss. 

And Heaven vouchsafed to grant the boon 
'Till half a century had passed, 

Until her sun had reached its noon, 
There to bejixed while time shall last. 

Then burst, with joy, their mighty hearts, 
And set their raptured spirits free, 

So Sol, in flood of light, departs, 
And sets in glory's dazzling sea. 

In peace the reverend sages slept, 

Adorned with honours, crowned with years, 

And angels smiled, while nature wept, 
A silvery shower of sparkling tears. 

Then, freemen, mourn — but not as those 
Whose hopes are laid beneath the sod, 

For your lamented chiefs repose 
Upon the bosom of their God. 

Mourn for the worth which all admired, 
Now crowned with heavenly diadem, 

And be with emulation fired 
To live, to act, to die, like them. 



ELEGIAC. 211 



MONODY, 



On the Deaths of the Ex-Presidents, John Adams, and 
Thomas Jefferson, July 4, 1826. 

The mid-day peal of joy had rung, 

When Sol, in his car of glory, 
A radiant glance from the zenith flung, 

On a spot far famed in story. 

He gazed on the scene, but sought in vain 

For that band of patriot sages, 
Whose deathless names alone remain, 

Emblazoned on History's pages. 

All, all were gone, but the godlike three 

Revered by a grateful nation, 
And they were our Adams, our Carroll, and he 

Who drafted the Declaration. 

He thought of the time, when in deep despair, 

Columbia's troops were receding, 
For millions were now rejoicing where 

Her heroes then lay bleeding ! 

" 'Tis done !" he cried, u and this Jubilee 
" Shall long be remembered in story, 

" For two of the patriot godlike three, 
" Shall depart in this blaze of glory." 



212 MELODIES. 

He said, and amidst the joy and mirth, 

(For the mandate had heen given,) 
The spirit of Jefferson rose from earth, 

To meet its reward in Heaven. 

He soared on high, to his place of rest, 

With cherubim attendants, 
And he smiling soared, for his country was fciesi 

With Freedom and Independence. 

One glance of love was downward cast, 

Like a beam of celestial glory, 
O'er Quincy's reverend sage it pass'd, 

Renowned like himself, in story. 

He felt the ray, and his mighty heart 

Burst with the sweet emotion, 
Twas the year and the day he had prayed to depart 

In the fervour of pure devotion. 

Together they gained the elysium bower, 

By angels received with gladness, 
While nature wept in a silvery shower, 

But not with tears of sadness. 

Together they toiled for their country's good, 

In her darkest hour of danger, 
Together the arm of oppression withstood, 

Each heart to fear a stranger. 



RELIGIOUS. 213 

Together they soared to realms of bli?s, 

In a world of fadeless splendour ; 
Together their names shall live in this 

While Liberty has a defender. 



HAPPINESS. 

An Extract from Quarter-Day. 

Who then is happy ? Ere she close the strain, 
The muse herself shall answer. 'Tis the man 
(Of easy fortune and a generous heart) 
Whose charity by wisdom is directed ; 
Who loves his God, his neighbour, and himself, 
In just descending order ; whose employ 
Is doing good to others ; whose reward, 
The bright reflection of the joy he gives. 
Like a mild taper in a diamond lustre, 
Which multiplies one little ray to thousands, 
His means of blessing still increase by use. 
Not all the Horrors of the first of May, 
Can shake the solid peace of such a man. 
The changing seasons, times, *&vents,- and all 
The various scenes that chequer human life, 
And e'en the chilling adverse storms of fate, 
Serve but to ripen the celestial fruits 
His active love produces ; draughts of bliss 
He quaffs for every little taste he gives, 
And finds a heaven in wishing others there. 
To seek for happiness in things of sense, 



f!4 FOEMS. 

In wealth, ambition, pleasure, or supineness. 

Is but a vain exertion — idle hope ; 

For then we chase a transitory cheat, 

And leave the game, the real prize, behind, 

Hid in contentment's calm sequestered vale, 

While we toil up the mountain's rugged side, 

Tempting new dangers, and exposed to all 

The storms that beat ambition's bleaker road ; 

Or perils worse than these, concealed beneath 

The treacherous sweets that bloom in pleasure's path, 

A thousand serpent-stings, unseen, but fatal. 

And if in dastard indolence we rest, 

Our lazy hopes are certain of defeat. 

Then learn the true, the only real source 

Whence happiness can flow — a precept drawn 

From holy writ this heavenly source proclaims — 

" To fear the Lord, and his commands obey, 

Is man's whole duty," in a single line ; 

An easy yoke, a burthen light to bear. 

'Tis but to love in heart and action both — 

For love is the fulfilling of the law. 



EPIGRAM. 

" 'Tis priestcraft all," the impious atheist cries, 
" The world was made by chance — the Bible lies l" 
'Twere useless such assertions to repel ; 
But what if chance has also made a hell ? 



RELIGIOUS. 315 

CONSECR-ATIOJNT. 

Jesus is God, and God alone, 

O, be this truth contest, 
For 'tis the sure foundation stone 

On which the church shall rest. 

Though modern builders pass it by, 

And scribes and priests reject, 
On this blest truth, which they deny, 

We now the church erect. 

Though earth and hell against it join, 

Yet must this building rise; 
The work, Almighty God, is thine, 

And wondrous in our eyes. 



FLORIAN'S GRAVE, 

Extract from a Poem entitled New-Havex* 

Here while I stray, beneath this poplar gloom, 
Friendship demands a tear for yonder tomb ; 
Where, freed from all the cares that life attend, 
Reclines fair Virtue's and the Muses' friend. 
When first these grateful scenes allured mine eyes, 
He taught me where to rove, and what to prize ; 
When pensive Vesper led the starry train, 
And Cynthia's splendours mark'd the eastern main, 
Here would we ramble, while the sighing breeze 



216 MELODIES. 

Waved the tall verdure and disturb'd the trees ; 
Weave in our converse threads of moral thought, 
And scan the truths surrounding emblems taught ; 
Then with warm ardour dart our rapid view 
Through present clouds to scenes of brighter hue ; 
Anticipated joys we hoped to share, 
And in imagination revell'd there ; 
Laid future plans of happiness and ease, 
When love and fortune would unite to please ; 
With rapture dwelt upon the grateful theme, 
And with regret dismiss' d the waking dream. 
Yes, 'twas a dream ! and I remain .to prove 
That both were shadows, promised wealth and love, 
Whilst thou wert call'd from visionary scenes 
To real pleasures and eternal greens, 
Ere sad experience taught the cruel truth 
That shadows only tempted ardent youth. 
Florian ! 'tis mine to wish that Heaven's decree 
Had snatch' d us both from this tempestuous sea, 
That life had ended ere despair begun, 
And, as below our hopes, above our joys been one. 



POEMS, 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 



AWT ODE, 

For the Grand Canal Celebration, November 4, 1825. 

'Tis done, 'tis done ! — The mighty chain 
Which joins bright Erie to the Main, 
For ages, shall perpetuate 
The glory of our native State. 

Tis done ! — Proud Art o'er Nature has prevailed ! 

Genius and Perseverance have succeeded ! 
Though selfish Prejudice assailed, 

And honest Prudence pleaded. 

'Tis done ! — The monarch of the briny tide. 

Whose giant arm encircles earth, 
To virgin Erie is allied, 

A bright-eyed nymph of mountain birth, 

To-day, the Sire of Ocean takes 

A sylvan maiden to his arms, 
The goddess of the crystal lakes. 

In all her native charms ! 
19 



21 8 POEMS. 

She conies 1 attended by a sparkling train ; 

The Naiads of the West her nuptials grace ; 
She meets the sceptred father of the main, 

And in his heaving bosom hides her virgin face. 

Rising from their watery cells, 
Tritons sport upon the tide, 
And gaily blow their trumpet-shells, 

In honour of the bride. 
Sea-nymphs leave their coral caves, 
Deep beneath the ocean-waves, 
Where they string, with tasteful car< 
Pearls upon their sea-green hair. 

Thetis' virgin train advances. 

Mingling in the bridal dances ; 

Jove, himself, with raptured eye ; 

Throws his forked thunders by, 
And bids Apollo seize his golden lyre, 

A strain of joy to wake; 
While Fame proclaims that Ocean's Sire 
Is wedded to the goddess of the Lake. 

The smiling god of song obeys, 
And heaven re-echoes with his sounding lays. 

" All hail to the Art which unshackles the soul I 

And fires it with love of glory ! 
And causes the victor, who reaches the goal, 

To live in deathless storv ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. 219 

ii Which teaches young Genius to rise from earth, 

On fancy's airy pinion, 
To assert the claims of its heavenly birth. 

And seize on if » blest dominion. 

u The Art which the banner of Truth unfurl'd. 

When darkness veiled each nation, 
And prompted Columbus to seek a new world 

On the unexplored map of creation. 

i; Which lighted the path of the pilgrim band. 

Who braved the storms of ocean, 
To seek, in a wild and distant land. 

The freedom of pure devotion. 

" Which kindled, on Freedom's shrine, a flame 

That will glow through future ages, 
And cover with glory and endless fame 

Columbia's immortal sages. 

il The Art which enabled her Franklin to prove, 

And solve each mystic wonder ! 
To arrest the forked shafts of Jove, 

And play with his bolts of thunder. 

;; The Art, which enables her sons to aspire, 

Beyond all the wonders in story ; 
Por an unshackled PRESS is the pillar of fire 

Which lights them to Freedom and Glorv. 



220 POEMS. 

• ; ; Tis this which called forth the immortal decree. 
And gave the great work its first motion ; 

f Tis done ! by the hands of the brave and free, 
And Erie is link'd to the Ocean. 

<: Then hail to the Art which unshackles the soul, 

And fires it with love of glory, 
And causes the victor who reaches the goal, 

To live in deathless story." 

Such strains — if earthly strains may be 

Compared to Ins who tunes a heavenly lyre — 

Are warbled by the bright-haired deity, 
While listening orbs admire. 

Such strains shall unborn millions yet awake, 
While, with her golden trumpet, smiling Fame 

Proclaims the union of the Main and Lake, 
And on her scroll emblazons Clinton's name. 



OUR NATIVE LAND. 

In this vast rising empire of the west, 
With freedom, science, fame, and plenty blest, 
Where earthly comforts in profusion flow, 
Each virtuous bosom must with rapture glow ; 
For here, where Liberty her fane has built, 
No grief is found, but in the path of guilt ; 
No pains, nor fears, the good man's heart annoy. 
No fpnrs arp shpd but thnsp of sympathy or joy. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 221 

THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY. 

Air — Miss Bailey. 

Ye gentlemen and ladies fair, 

Who grace this famous city, 
Just listen, if ye've time to spare. 

While I rehearse a ditty ; 
And for the opportunity, 

Conceive yourselves quite luckv , 
For tis not often that you see, 

A hunter from Kentucky. 
Oh ! Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky, 

The hunters of Kentucky. 

We are a hardy free-born race, 

Each man to fear a stranger, 
Whate'er the game, we join in chase, 

Despising toil and danger : 
And if a daring foe annoys, 

Whate'er his strength and forces, 
We'll show him that Kentucky boys 

Are " alligator horses." 
Oh ! Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky . 

The hunters of Kentucky. 

I s'pose you've read it in the prints, 

How Packenham attempted 
To make Old Hickory Jackson wince, 

But soon his scheme repented ; 

19* 



222 MELODIES 

For we with rifles ready eock'ti, 
Thought such occasion lucky, 

And soon around the General flock'd 
The hunters of Kentucky. 

Oh ! Kentucky, &c. 

You've heard, I s'pose, how New-Orleai 

Is famed for wealth and beauty — 
There's girls of every hue, it seems, 

From snowy white to sooty : 
So Packenham he made his brags, 

If he in fight was lucky, 
He'd have their girls and cotton bags. 

In spite of Old Kentucky. 

Oh ! Kentucky, &c. 

But Jackson, he was wide awake. 

And was'nt scared at trifles ; 
For well he knew what aim we take. 

With our Kentucky rifles ; 
So he led us down to Cypress swamp. 

The ground was low and mucky ; 
There stood John Bull, in martial pomp. 

And here was Old Kentucky. 
Oh ! Kentucky, &c. 

A bank was raised to hide our breast, 
Not that we thought of dying, 

But then we always like to rest. 
T T nless the srame is flying : 



M I^CELLANEOUS. 223 

Behind it stood our little force — 

None wished it to be greater. 
For every man was half a horse. 

And half an alligator. 

Oh ! Kentucky, &c. 

They did not let our patience tire, 

Before they showed their faces — 
We did not choose to waste our fire, 

So snugly kept our places ; 
But when so near we saw them wink, 

We thought it time to stop them ; 
And 'twould have done you good, I think, 

To see Kentucky pop them. 
Oh ! Kentucky, &c. 

They found at last 'twas vain to fight 

Where lead was all their booty, 
And so they wisely took to flight, 

And left us all the beauty. 
And now, if danger e'er annoys, 

Remember what our trade is, 
Just send for us Kentucky boys, 

And we'll protect you, Ladies. 
Oh ! Kentucky, &c. 

That vast extensive region of the west, 
So long by Spanish tyranny oppress'd, 
Has risen in her might, and bravely broke 
Her galling shackles and degrading yoke. 



224 POEMS. 

PRIZE ADDRESS, 

On the Opening of the La Fayette Circus , for which icas 
awarded a Silver Cup, of Fifty Dollars valve. 

The cultured mind, accustomed to explore 
And taste the choicest sweets of classic lore. 
With rapture dwells on each inspiring lay 
That paints the sports of Grecia's proudest day ; 
When the throng' d stadium rang with loud acclaims. 
To hail the victor in her manly games ; 
Those daring feats which famed Alcides taught. 
To nerve the limb, and elevate the thought ; 
Feats which the royal Iphitus restored. 
And consecrated to the powers adored ; 
Which gave to Greece a wreath of fadeless bloom. 
And raised the glory of imperial Rome. 

There, the fleet courser, with an eye of flame. 
Bold, like his rider — and as proud of fame. 
Impatient champ'd the bit, or pawed the ground, 
With ear erect, to catch the trumpet's sound ; 
Then, with a speed that mock'd the passing wind, 
Spurn'd the dull earth, and left the world behind. 
And with him flew — erect upon his feet ! 
The bold equestrian, through the furious heat, 
Reckless of danger — (such are Grecians still) — 
The rein submitted to the courser's will, 
While, at the target, with unerring art, 
Thn fparless rider threw fho whizzing* dart ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 225 

Or, with a harness' d pair, of equal speed, 
Vaulted with matchless grace, from steed to steed, 
While mingled sounds of wonder and applause 
Proclaimed the deepest interest in his cause ; 
Till, past the goal, and claimant of the prize, 
When peals of acclamation pierced the skies. 

With feats like these, to charm the present age, 
And join the stadium to the modern stage ; 
To elevate the pleasures of the ring, 
By every aid dramatic art can bring — 
For this, you see, another fabric reared 
Where late a dreary, barren waste appeared ! 
For this, kind patrons, we would humbly sue, 
To dedicate the tasteful fane to you. 

Here shall Latona's bright-hair'd son impart 
The sweetest lessons of his tuneful art ; 
Here may the eye of taste admire the speed, 
And graceful prowess, of the generous steed ; 
And here, in pleased astonishment, may scan 
The still more wondrous active powers of man. 
Here, studious votaries of the classic page 
May view the feats of Grecia's golden age ; 
Feats which secured the victors of the game 
Unfading honours, and a deathless fame ; 
Inspired her youth with that chivalric glow 
Which urged them onward to subdue the foe ; 
Which fired her sons with emulative zeal, 
To rifie the guardians of their country's weal ; 



226 POEMS. 

To which she owed the glory of her state, 
And that unconquered pride which made her great; 
Preserved her freedom — gained the world's applause, 
And prompts her now to be what then she was. 

And if like causes like effects produce, 
If you admit the stadium's wondrous use. 
May not a thousand equal blessings spring 
From such achievements as shall grace our ring 5 
May not our patriot youth, who here perceive 
What sprightliness and courage can achieve. 
Be fired with emulation to command 
" The fiery steed, and train him to their hand !" 
To vault, like feathered Hermes, on his back. 
And fearless guide him to the fierce attack ; 
To wield the sabre, or direct the dart, 
And boldly practice each equestrian art ; 
To wrestle, leap, or throw the ponderous quoit. 
And bear away the palm in each exploit ? 

Yes, generous patrons — thus our gallant youth, 
Champions of freedom, honour, love, and truth. 
Will learn to guard the sacred rights you prize. 
And raise Columbia's glory to the skies ; 
In every clime behold her flag unfurl'd, 
Till Freedom's golden star shall light the world. 



The cross is reard, the Turkish cresent wanes. 
Grecia no more shall wear a despot's chains. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 227 

WASHINGTON'S BIRTH. 

Air — Hail to the Chief. 

Bright were her smiles, when the blushing Atttora . 

Greeted the newly-born hope of the west ; 
Phoebus, advancing in chariot of glory, 

Gazed with delight on the infantile guest ; 
Seraphs, commissiond to watch o'er his slumbers, 

Shake from their pinions the odours of bliss ; 
While, in the softest and sweetest of numbers, 
Hark ! they are chanting an anthem like this: — 
Bright heir of endless fame, 
Thine be a deathless name, 
Thine be a glory to brighten the earth ; 
Then shall a nation join, 
Round Freedom's sacred shrine, 
Hailing the day of our Washington's birth. 

Fame heard the chorus, and braided the laurel, 

Mars caught the tidings, and burnished his shield ; 
Ruthless Bellona prepared for the quarrel, 

Justice presented her sword for the field ; 
Jove, from Olympus, beheld and commended, 

Armed his own eagle in Liberty's cause ; 
Pallas, the goddess of wisdom, descended, 
Bearing the new Constitution and Laws : — 
While o'er her hills and plains, 
Swell'd these seraphic strains, 
Kise, blest Columbia, the Queen of the Earth ; 



228 MELODIES 

Soon shall your tyrants flee, 
Soon shall your sons be free, 
Hail to the day of your Washington's birth. 

Hope smiled extatic, while Freedom, delighted, 

Fix'd on a scite for her temple to stand ; 
There is her altar erected and lighted, 

Thence does its splendour illumine the land ; 
Hail an event of such glory and sptendour, 

Waken your paeans to Washington's name ; 
Champion of Freedom, our nation's defender, 
Hero and statesman, eternal his fame ; 
Still round our verdant plains, 
Swell these seraphic strains, 
Rise, blest Columbia, the Queen of the Earth 
Still shall a nation join, 
Round Freedom's sacred shrine, 
Hail to the day of our Washington's birth. 



TO AMY, 

What if the awful mandate should be given ; 

By Him who spoke creation into birth, 
To blot for ever from the map of heaven, 

The polar star — would this enamoured earth 
Still pay its adoration to the spot 
Where once it twinkled ? Banish such a thought- 
Believe me, dearest Amy, it would not. 



MISCELLANEOUS, 



And would the widowed needle still present 
Its polished point, to where that planet shone ? 

Would all its mystic powers be idly spent, 
Its homage paid to vacancy alone, 

While Love's warm star was beaming in the west ? 

O no — its influence soon would be confest, 

And, till it pointed there, the trembler would not rest. 

Such is the heart — its favourite star is gone, 
And is it doomed to tremble without rest ? 
O, must such matchless beauty waste alone, 
Designed by heaven to make a lover blest ? 
O, no, dear girl ! defeat not heaven's design, 
Reward my love, O, say thou wilt be mine, 
Or give me leave to hope, and I will not repine. 



NEWSPAPERS, 
A Paraphrase on part of Cowper's Task* 

3 Tis pleasant, through the loop-holes of retreat, 

(So Cowper sang, in strains divinely sweet,) 

To peep at such a world ; and as it turns, 

Survey at ease, the globe and its concerns ; 

To seem advanced to more than mortal height, 

With this vast spherule rolling in your sight; 

To view the noisy Babel from a cloud, 

Behold the bustle, and not feel the crowd ; 

To hear the mighty din she sends around, 

;\t a safe distance, where the dying sound 
20 



MO POEMS. 

Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear, 
And thus to scan tne whole without a fear. 
The sound of war, if such a scene you view, 
Loses its terrors ere it reaches you ; 
And desolation, cau^ea by hostile arms, 
Excites your pity, grieves, but not alarms ; 
Perhaps you mourn the avarice and pride 
That render man a cruel fratricide ; 
And at the echo of those thunders start, 
In which he speaks the language of his heart; 
Perhaps you wonder as it floats around, 
And sigh, but never tremble, at the sound. 

As roves the bee, when vernal flowers expand, 
So roves the traveller from lond to land, 
Where manners, customs, policy, and scenes, 
Pay contributions to the stores he gleans ; 
Still like the bee, in Summer's blushing prime, 
He sucks intelligence from every clime ; 
And on returning to his native shores, 
He thus spreads out his hoarded honied stores, 
And welcomes all — a rich repast for you, 
For as he travelled, you can travel too ; 
Ascend his topmast, through his piercing eyes 
Behold new countries in the distance rise : 
With sympathising feeling, tread his deck, 
Or cling, in terror, to the midnight wreck ! 
With kindred heart, you suffer all his w T oes, 
Share his escapes, his comforts, and repose. 
Thus may your fancy the great circuit roam. 
While (lik* a dial's index) safe at home. 






MISC ELLANEOUS. 231 

THE SOLAR SYSTEM* 

Suggested by viewing Mr. Goodacre's Grand Orrery. 

Behold yon orbs, in paths harmonious, run 

Their destined courses round the parent sun ; 

Grand correspondent of that sun above, 

Whose light is wisdom, and whose heat is love. 

There terra rolls — a speck upon the sky, 

Less than a speck to some more distant eye ; 

Suppose, that on the surface of that ball 

.Myriads of little thinking insects crawl, 

Whose trembling spark of life, at longest, burns 

While round the sun they make an hundred turns 

And then expire ; suppose your eye could trace 

The various movements of this tiny race ; 

Suppose you saw a few ambitious mites 

Attempt to lord it o'er their fellows' rights ; 

Or view'd a host, who placed their hope and trust 

In hoarding glittering grains of yellow dust ; 

Or thousands, whose ambition but aspired 

To see their gaudy hues awhile admired ; 

Or millions, whose less innocent intents, 

Concentrate in the groveling joys of sense — 

Would you not think they marr'd their Maker's plan ? 

Then blush, proud mortal — such, alas ! is man : 

Such follies, or such crimes, apply to all 

The busy insects of our native ball — 

And were not aid divine in mercy given, 

Each had forever lost his destined Heaven . 



232 POEMS. 

But think not, vainly, that the human race 
Is limited to such contracted space ; 
Dream not that those bright orbs were set on high. 
To run their various courses through the sky, 
For ornament alone — ignoble thought, 
To reason listen, and be better taught ! 
Know that Eternal Love conceived the plan. 
And love eternal rests at last on man ; 
For each effect its energies produce, 
Is wrought by wisdom, and its end is use ; 
Hence learn that every moving twinkling light 
That decks the azure vault of heaven, at night. 
Is round a central sun resistless hurl'd, 
Itself a ponderous globe — a peopled world: 
A world, perhaps, unstained by crime or blood, 
Where social love prefers its neighbour's good ; 
Where every joy derives its sweetest zest 
From the fond wish of making others blest 
Where Heaven-born charity exerts her powers — 
A world of bliss, as man might render ours. 
Such peopled orbs in countless numbers fly 
In never-varying order through the sky ; 
And all with one accordant voice proclaim, 
The power which made and still supports their frame. 

Presumptuous Atheist ! if such wretch exist, 
Can thy vain reasoning proofs like these resist ? 
Say, can these planets, in harmonious dance, 
Perform their revolutions thus by chance? 



MISCELLANEOUS. 233 

Perish the thought !— rise from thy native clotf, 
Renounce thy error, and confess a God. 
For though with every mortal honour clad, 
"An undevout Astronomer is mad;" 
Conviction seals thy lips — presume no more, 
But in mute wonder tremble and adore. 



TO HARRIET. 

New- York, January 1st, 1825. 

'Twas near that " witching time of night 
When spectres walk, and poets write ; 
The play was out, the shops were closed, 
And all the labouring world reposed: 
The waning moon was yet asleep, 
Or had not risen from the deep ; 
The Bridewell's trusty sentinel 
Had cried aloud that all was well! 
And some one, near the Debtor's Jail, 
Had echoed back the lying tale ! 
When, in my elbow-chair reclined, 
The form of Harriet cross'd my mind, 
And I resolved to frame a lay, 
Addressed to -her, on New- Year's day : 
But strove in vain — for every Muse 
Appeared determined to refuse 
The smallest favour I could ask — 
And I resign'd the hopeless task ; 
20* 



$34 POEMS. 

Sank backward in my crazy chair, 
The haggard picture of despair ! 

When, suddenly, my vision failed ! 
And such a sound my ears assailed, 
As rilled my trembling heart with dread, 
And shook the rafters o'er my head ! 
('Tis true, just then, I can't deny, 
Four hackney coaches thundered by ;) 
Grimalkin gave a dreadful scream ! 
(She might have had a frightful dream ;) 
And Pug emitted such a groan, 
As if some cur had stole his bone ! 
I felt my creeping blood recoil ! 
The lamp burnt blue ! — (it wanted oil ;) 
My bristling hair now stood erect ! 
(For lack of combing, I suspect ;) 
My eye-balls, in their sockets, glared ! 
A certain sign that I was scared. 
I listened, still, in breathless dread, 
To hear the slow and heavy tread 
Of some ascending footstep near, 
Which fell like lead upon my ear ! 
Nor listened long — my garret door, 
Which has been safely latched before, 
Without a touch, wide open flew ! 
And what a spectre met my view ! 

An old decrepid sage appeared, 
With hollow cheek, and snowv beard ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 235 

A wrinkled forehead, soaring high 
Above a deeply-sunken eye ; 
With head quite bald, except before, 
Where one long silver lock he wore ; 
One arm a ponderous scythe sustained, 
One hand an hour-glass, almost drained, 
In which the sand was wasting fast — 
(The recent year was almost past;) 
'Twas father Time! — I knew him well, 
And hailed him welcome to my cell ; 
Intreating him awhile to stop, 
To warm his hands, and take a drop. 

;< Time never stops /" he hoarsely cried, 
" For no one tarries time nor tide ! 
Though all abuse me, as I pass, 
And strive to break my scythe and glass ? 
Though all misuse and treat me ill, 
Yet I keep jogging forward still. 
But having ever met from you 
That courtesy, to old age due, 
Which you are exercising now, 
(I smiled, and made my prettiest bow,) 
I felt inclined, in passing by, 
To let you know the reason why 
The Muses came not at your call — 
They're going to the New- Year's ball, 
For which they practised all last week. 
And at this moment, while I speak. 



236 POEMS. 

Are chatting, though ''tis dark and misty. 
With fair Langlois and lively Christie ; 
And then, at such an hour, you know, 
>r Fis requisite to have a beau ; 
Of course, it naturally will follow, 
That their gallant is gay Apollo. 
No wonder, then, that you, in vain, 
Have summoned this Parnassian train ; 
For let the fair but scent a ball, 
And all, but Death, may vainly call. 

" But fare you well ! I cannot stay, 
For ere these sands have run away, 
The custom-house of Heaven will clear 
An out-bound ship — the good Old-Year; 
And there's another one, 1 learn, 
Belonoing" to the same concern, 
Full freighted, just come in from sea, 
Arrived below, consigned to me ; 
And ere the hour of twelve be toll'd, 
Her precious cargo must be sold ; 
Comprising minutes, hours, and days, 
And other goods above all praise ; 
Put up in lots, as each prefers, 
To suit all sorts of purchasers , 
A day, a week, a month, or year, 
And I must play the Auctioneer. 
Come with me, and attend the sale, 
'Twill serve you for a new-year's tale, 
Your Harriet's fancy to regale. 



MISCELLANEOUS. SS7 

No sooner had the spectre spoke, 
Than quick I seized my hat and cloak, 
And sallied forth, with hope inspired — 
The citizens had all retired, 
One " guardian of the night" except, 
Who on a stoop securely slept. 
My sage companion tottered on, 
Exclaiming — " Going ! — going ! — gone ! 
A Year, in months, or weeks, for sale I 
Who bids for part, or all the bale ! 
What for an hour ? — or twenty-four ? 
With privilege of taking more ! 
Who bids ! — the sale's without reserve, 
And none must from the contract swerve." 

" Put up," exclaimed a bright-wing'd elf, 
4t Each moonlight evening by itself; 
The summer ones so much I prize, 
I'll bid a thousand tender sighs." 
" Once ! twice ! a going ! — who bids more !" 
Grief added to the sum a score, 
With twenty thousand tears beside. 
Philosophy stept up with pride, 
And offered for each cloudless night, 
Twelve problems, which he — meant to write. 

Poor Poetry approached the scene, 
With threadbare coat, and pensive mein, 
A brimful heart, and empty purse. 
And bid two thousand feet of— verse ! 



238 POEMS. 

Old Time, who took the wink from me, 
Knock'd down the lot to Poetry, 
Who would no article remove, 
Till he had shared the whole with Love ! 

Another lot, of darker hue, 
The salesman next held up to view, 
Exclaiming, as he shook his glass — 
" Here's goods of quite a diiferent class ; 
A lot of nights, in cloudy weather, 
Who bids — the whole must go together ; 
For fireworks and illuminations, 
And various other ' demonstrations,' 
This kind of goods is just the thing; 
Who bids ! — they'll go for what they'll bring." 

A host of fiends approached the spot, 
Each eager to secure the lot : 
Sly crafty Fraud, mean Breach-of-trust, 
Intemperance, Murder, Theft, and Lust, 
And every imp of Heaven accurs'd. 
Such rapid bids from crime and vice, 
Secured the goods a heavy price ; 
And ere the buyers left the spot, 
Thy all agreed to share the lot. 

The crowd increased ; the sage, perplext. 
Put up a lot of week-days next ; 
Industry bid, but Speculation 
Out-bid him without hesitation, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 239 

Until they run the lot so high, 
That all the rest refused to buy ; 
The auctioneer to dwell was loth, 
So knocked the package down to both. 

The Sundays only now remained, 
For which/air bids were soon obtained ; 
Pleasure and Indolence expected 
To have the pleasant ones selected 
For them alone, to take the best, 
And leave Religion all the rest. 
But Time to this would not agree, 
So knocked them down to Piety ; 
Exclaiming, " Going! — going ! — gone! ! L" 
The doc* struck twelve!— 'twas New-year's morn; 
Aroused by poor grimalkin's scream, 
I woke, and found 'twas all a dream. 

But, Harriet, should my dream prove true? 
And Time have sold such goods to you, 
May every bale, and lot, and piece, 
Your capital of bliss increase, 
While you deposit the avails 
In Heaven, a bank that never fails. 
And when the great account, at last, 
Is posted, and correctly cast , 
The balance-sheet will clearly prove, 
That you've etevnolfunds above. 
Till then, may pleasure crown you here. 
For many a New and Happy Year. 



240 VOEMS. 

REJECTED ADDRESS. 

Intended for the opening of the New- York Theatre, 

When simple nature first devised the plan, 
And gave the chart of life to erring man, 
With tearful eye, dejected Pity traced 
His cheerless path across the sterile waste, 
JVor found, amid the wilderness of woes 
A single spot for shelter or repose. 
There roved the form and image of her God, 
Wild as the dreary trackless realms he trod : 
Savage and rude, uncultured, unrefined, 
By turns the prey and butcher of his kind. 
She saw, and sighed, in agony of soul, 
And prayed that Mercy would revise the scroll. 

With magic pencil, dipt in hues of light, 
Art touched the map, and all the scene was bright ; 
A thousand islets, crown'd with sylvan bowers, 
The freshest verdure, and the sweetest flowers, 
With gushing fountains, pure meandering rills, 
Delightful valleys, and majestic hills, 
Refresh'd with dews — by fragrant zephyrs fann'd, 
Seem'd scatter'd o'er that shoreless sea of sand ; 
The goddess saw — dismiss'd her false alarms, 
And own'd that, life was not without its charms. 

Among those charms, designed by polish'd art 
Vo warm the fancw and improve thp heart. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 241 

The Drama opes its bright enchanting scenes, 
Its object use — amusement but the means ; 
For though the muse resort to fiction's aid, 
Fiction is here but truth in masquerade ; 
And thousands, who her grave entreaties shun, 
Are, by her borrowed smiles, allured and won. 

She shows what ills beset our devious way, 
When reason yields to passion's lawless sway, 
And what inspiring hopes his steps attend, 
Who clings to Virtue as his guide and friend ; 
What glory crowns the hero and the sage, 
Whose present labours bless a future age ; 
And what celestial ecstacies reward 
Each act that conscience, truth, and Heav'n applaud. 
Where'er is felt the drama's genial sway, 
The mists of vice and ignorance melt away, 
Refinement follows, and her empire grows 
Till moral deserts blossom like the rose. 

Thus has her power tins growing city blest, 

The pride, the boast, the mistress of the west; 

Where genius, science, arts, and taste abound, 

And every sweet embellishment is found ; 

And where the drama sees her cause extend. 

Till virtue hails her as her warmest friend; 

While bigot Prejudice, with scowl austere, 

Views her new temple proudly towering here ; 

A fane, which we to-night, with rituals due, 

Would consecrate to genius and to you. 
21 



242 POEMS 

Accept the offering — let this splendid pile, 
Illumed by beauty's soul-inspiring smile, 
Become the school of morals, wit, and taste, 
By art embellished, and by fashion graced ; 
'Tis done, if you but deign to aid the cause, 
Success is certain, blest with your applause* 



JlEAStN AND PASSION. 

An extract from Beasts at Law, 

The human mind's a tilting field, 
Where two strong active spirits wield 
The missive, dart or pointed lance, 
And parry, thrust, repeat, advance, 
Or close, in obstinate affray, 
Till one or t'other gains the day. 
But still the fight is not decided, 
Their powers and rights are so divided, 
The desperate war is still renew'd, 
For neither can be quite subdued ; 
But each is. in his turn, the master, 
Like Pollux and his brother Castor, 
These spirits (as we might suppose. 
They being such eternal foes) 
Are as unlike in form and feature, 
As much opposed in looks and nature 
And as dissimilar in all, 
As men and angels since the fall. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 243 

When charity expands the breast, 
The first of virtues and the best ; 
When Love within the soul arises, 
Which all the law of God comprises ; 
In short, when were inclined to good, 
And have some selfish wish subdued ; 
"We may be sure the fiend has reel'd, 
And that the angel holds the field. 
But when we yield to passion's sway, 
And hate or envy's rule obey ; 
It will as certainly be found, 
The angel welters on the ground ; 
That we have turn'd the fate of war, 
And placed Apollyon on the car. 
For though we fight on neither side, 
'Tis ours the victory to guide, 
And by a vote we turn the scale, 
For Vice and Virtue to prevail. 
Too indolent, unless befriended, 
To keep our heavy arm extended, 
In careless ease we let it drop, 
And Virtue falls with Vice atop. 
In such a case, 'tis my opinion, 
Rather than Vice should hold dominion, 
We'd best confess our arm is weak, 
And succour of Religion seek ; 
There we can find a potent charm, 
Sufficient to support an arm 
Of nature's smallest, weakest son, 
Although that arm should weigh a ton. 



244 POEMS. 

But stay, I'll demonstrate my meaning : 
When Victory once by turns was leaning 
To different sides of hostile foes, 
Now aiding these, now helping those ; 
Doubtful which way to turn the scale, 
That this or that should most prevail : 
The leader of the chosen band, 
In Israel's favour raised his hand, 
And quick as thought their foes retreat, 
Nor dared the tide of fate to meet ; 
His hand withdrawn, the vanquish'd turn, 
And with rekindled ardor burn, 
While Israel's ranks confused and broke. 
By thousands fell beneath the stroke. 
In this dilemma, undismay'd, 
He calls for holy Aaron's aid ; 
(A beauteous figure of that power, 
Who still supports us every hour ;) 
The wearied arm the Priest sustain'd, 
And Israel soon the field regain'd, 
On their pursuers turned the flood, 
And dyed the plain with heathen blood ; 
Thus gain'd the day and battle too, 
And pay'd their vows where justly due. 



That minstrel wakes the song in vain, 
Who weaves no moral with his strain : 
And he who flatters vice for pelf, 
Deserves its penalty himself. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 245 

YALE COLLEGE. 

Extract from a Poem entitled New-Haven. 

Access is mine, the willing gates unfold, 

And Yale's assembled sons mine eyes behold ; 

Our future statesmen, patriots, bards, divines, 

For whom bright Fame the fadeless laurel twines, 

Are here convened, and in each youthful face 

Their rising greatness fancy fain would trace. 

Say, are not here some souls that restless burn, 

On life's great stage to take an active turn ; 

To rise, the awful pillars of the state, 

And rival ancient Tully in debate ? 

Some who possess a portion of that flame 

That gain'd our Washington immortal fame ? 

Others, whose philanthropic bosoms glow 

To act like Franklin in relieving wo ? 

Whose philosophic souls his fame inspires 

To wield the thunder and direct its fires ; 

To soar, on Fancy's wing, through trackless space, 

View countless orbs and all their movements trace, 

Govern'd by order and unchanging laws, 

And in effects behold the eternal cause ? 

Some glowing with a Homer's living fire, 

Design'd to " wake to ecstacy the lyre," 

To bid Columbia's future fame arise, 

And rear Parnassus under western skies ; 

Here fix the temple of the tuneful throng, 

And rival Albion's boasted sons of song ? 

21 



246 POEMS. 

Or are not here some destined yet to shine, 
With cloudless lustre, in the desk divine ; 
To wake the soul, and guide its feeble view 
To Him who made, and can its form renew ; 
Recal the wandering wretch, his course restrain, 
And gently lead him to the fold again ; 
Arouse the careless, and support the weak, 
And gospel truths with voice unfaltering speak ? 

$ %.'- $ 4 $ $ $ jft .?£ ifc $ Jfi 

Hail ! sons of Genius ! youthful sages, hail ! 
The glory, pride, support, and boast of Yale ; 
Your country's ornaments aspire to prove, 
And grace the spheres in which you're call'd to move ; 
So shall your Alma Mater rise in fame, 
And deathless honours decorate her name. 
And here the muse bewails her hapless bard. 
Whose cruel fate such golden prospects marr'd, 
For Hope once whisper'd to his ardent breast, 
a Thy dearest, fondest wish shall be possess'd" — 
Unfolded to his view the classic page, 
And all its treasures promised ripening age ; 
Show'd Learning's flowery path which led to Fame, 
Whose distant temple glittered with his name. 
Illusive all ! — the phantom all believe, 
Though still we know her promises deceive ; 
Chill penury convinced the wretch too late, 
Her words were false, and his a hapless fate. 



M1SCELLANE01> M< 

AN ADDRESS, 

Intended to have been spoken at the Park Theatre^ 

for the Benefit of the Widow and Orphans of 

HOPKINS ROBERTSON. 

Patrons of worth — whose presence oft has graced 
The mental banquet here prepared for taste ; 
But whose compassion led you here to-night. 
To make affliction's burthen sit more light — 
Deign to accept — 'tis virtue's sweetest food, 
The widow's thanks — the orphan's gratitude. 

No visage, wet with artificial tears. 
No bosom, shook with counterfeited fears- 
No feign'd affliction — no fictitious grief, 
Now claim, from sympathizing hearts, relief. 
The tears, now shed, from real fountains spring, — 
The purest tribute gratitude can bring ; 
The sighs now breathed, to Mercy's footstool bear, 
For you — and you — the widow's grateful prayer, 
The sweetest incense that to heaven ascends, 
To call down blessings on the orphan's friends. 
And the reward is yours — for sure, to-night, 
The happiest dreams will on your slumbers light : 
Fancy will paint a family of grief 
Receiving, from your generous hands, relief; 
And smiles shall greet you, from the humid eye 
Which your benevolence alone could dry. 



24b PCfiMB 

But yet — so well I know each generous heart,— 
You think this but a debt, discharged in part — 
A payment, to the offspring and the wife 
Of one who served you faithfully thro' life ; 
Whose talents, labours, time — were all combined 
To please the fancy and improve the mind. 

Whether as monarch of these mimic realms, 
Or peasant, 'mid our canvas oaks and elms,— - 
The hoary veteran, or the beardless lad — 
The lover happy — or, the tyrant mad ! — 
In every character — or gay or grave — ■ 
You can attest the pleasure that he gave. 
On life's great stage, he also play'd his part, 
Cheered by the plaudits of an honest heart ; 
As husband, father, friend — his business ran — 
The citizen — the patriot — the man ! 
In all, he acted well — yet, 'tis confess'd, 
One scene eclipsed in splendour all the rest : 
When hapless Richmond, on one funeral pyre, 
Saw beauty, talents, worth, and wealth, expire — 
"When death abrupt on pleasure's precincts broke, 
And held his carnival 'mid flames and smoke ; 
When shrieks of madness and despair, combined 
To freeze the blood, and agonize the mind — 
He stood undaunted, 'mid the unequal strife, 
Encountering death, to save another's life ! 
Tho' blazing ruin revels o'er his head, 
Pen ring a tempest on the quick and dead — 



MISCELLANEOUS. -J49 

f ho' thousand forked tongues of flame demand 
Their rescued victims from his daring hand — 
He still remains, the dreadful scene to brave, 
Till hope expires, and fate forbids to save ! 
This to his fame the brightest ray has given, 
And called down blessings from approving heaven. 

But ah ! the worth which you have all admired. 
With humbler virtues — tenderer, more retired-— 
Could not avail from early death to save 
Him who had rescued other's from the grave. 
His part is o'er — the manly form, which trod 
These boards so oft, now sleeps beneath the sod ; 
But the immortal mind, which never dies, 
To scenes more bright and permanent must rise : 
There enter on eternity's vast stage, 
And act an angel's part, an endless age. 

Your generous bounty cannot reach him there— 
But ah ! he's left dear pledges to your care, 
Whose fate may e'en affect his bliss in heaven. 
As your protection is withheld or given. 
O then continue — as you do to-night, 
" To make affliction's burthen sit more light;'* 
Protect the hapless orphan — shield the form 
Of widowed love, from misery's " pitiless storm ; n 
So will you hear angelic lips applaud, 
And find the act itself a rich reward ! 



S8S0 *»OBMS 



EPILOGUE, 

To the Native Drama of " Narrah Mattah." 

Spoken by Mrs. Sharpe, in the character 

of Narrah Mattah. 

The curtain's down — and while they're all behind 
Dofling their pilgrim dresses — I've a mind 
At the gay modern world to have one peep, 
And just say " how d'ye do V s before I sleep. 
(Looks round the boxes.) 

But how is this ?— am I to understand 
That these are the descendants of that band 
Of pious plain-clad pilgrims, who came o'er 
To seek for freedom on this western shore ? 
Why — where's the plain mob cap ? the russet gown? 
The puritanic coat ? the close-cropt crown ? 
Where's all that neat simplicity of dress 
Which marked the puritans ? Egad ! I guess 
I wan't alone — more of them must have wed 
With native chiefs, and mingled white and red ; 
Else why this taste for feathers, beads, and shells, 
In their descendants ? Why do modern belles 
Paint their sweet faces, and from either ear 
Suspend those sparkling trinkets ? And then here, 
(touching' hpr own arm.) 



MISCELLANEOUS £>\ 

So modestly to bury half their charms, 

In those huge silken bags that hide their arms ! 

there's red blood in some of your blue veins, 
And so there is in yours, ye dapper swains, 
Or what's the meaning of those dandy chains 
Extending from your bosoms to your pockets ? 

1 wonder if you modern beaux wear lockets ! 

Nay, hope not to escape me — you will fail, (laughing y 
These treacherous square-toes, I shall know your trail 

(Looks at the second tier.) 
I see you there, but I won't tell your name, 
He with the whiskers — yes — that's he — the same \ 
A mighty chief of some great tribe, no doubt, 
You need not tell me — I shall make it out : 
Yes, yes — I see — it plainly now appears, 
Those artificial whiskers hide long ears ! 

But he with that blue blanket on one shoulder. 
And feathered lip, must be a chief still bolder 5 
Perhaps a sachem, sagamore, or scribe, 
0, 1 perceive, he's of the cockney tribe. 

(Looks at the third tier.) 

But what is that thing?— yonder— up above 1 
He with the eye-glass ? There ! he's dropt his glove \ 
What tribe claims him— or it — that taper shape ? 
I've strong suspicions it must be the ape ! 



%i§2 POEMS. 

You needn't smile, here, in the pit, below, 
For I've a word with you before I go. 
Yes, do smile ! In mercy don't look grave, 
For 'tis your tribe must either damn or save 
The little bantling just gone off the stage. 
Forget its faults, but not its tender age. 
What if it be a little rude and wild, 
Remember that a parent loves his child : 
And I'll be sworn he's somewhere here to-night, 
With feelings none can know but they who write. 
So be good-natured, now, ye critic tribe ; 
Nay, do not frown — can I not name some bribe ? 
Yes, here it goes — don't let the new play fall, 
And Narrah Mattah vows to kiss you all. 

[Great applause. 
>Tis safe ! — 'tis safe ! — your generous hands decide it ! 
There — take a kiss among you, and divide it. 
[Kisses her hand, and exit. 



EPITAPH, 

On a charming and much lamented Female. 

This humble stone is meant to show 
That Anna's vesture lies below; 
But she who wore it — she we love, 
Is in her bridal dress above, 




KubS make Del. 



A\" m aSmiii 



T II E SUWL L&STT 



j'at/s tf&J. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 253 

THIS ORPHAN MAID. 

Mr — Bonnie Doon. 

How hard the maiden orphan's fate. 

Whose early joys and hopes are fled, 
Who vainly asks the rich and great 

For leave to earn her daily bread ! 
Exposed to frowns, rebukes, and sneers, 

In humble menial garb arrayed, 
While heartless fools deride her tears, 

And spurn the hapless orphan maid. 

There was a time alas ! 'tis fled — 

When fortune, friends, and kindred smiled, 
When sunny rays of joy were shed 

Around the gay and happy child ; 
When, shielded by parental care, 

No pang of sorrow dared invade, 
Save when she saw the meek despair 

Of some poor hapless orphan maid. 

But ah ! her parents died, and left 

Their darling unprotected child, 
Of fortune, friends, and joy bereft, 

And then the maiden never smiled. 
She only asked to tail for bread, 

She sought no unrequited aid — 
But asked in vain ! — till hope was fled, 

And death relieved the orphan maid ! 



22 



254 POEMS. 

EPILOGUE, 

TO COX'S 3HJCH-AD3IIKED OPERA OF " ROKEBY." 

SPOKEN BY BARNES, PLACIDE, AND HILSON. 

Enter Barnes } in character of a, Physician. 

Barnes. O, spare your hands — 'tis useless, all this blarney ? 
The play can't live, without a word from Barney: 
'Tis like a patient — quacks to death may steam him, 
And he is damned, if science don't redeem him. 
Grappling with fate, 'tis I alone can part 'em — 
Barney will save the piece, secundem artem. 

Go on — that's right — your smiles are what I'm after — 
The best prescription is a roar of laughter; 
One hearty laugh, no matter how excited, 
May save a life when every hope is blighted. 

'Tis true, Placide has got an epilogue, 
But 'taint the thing — it don't " go the whole hog ;" 
So, while he's back there, spelling out each line, 
I'll give you an extrumpery of mine ; 
Original throughout — no one has read it — 
So, if you have a tear, prepare to shed it. 

"A certain fair one — once, in days of yore — 
Caught a bad quinsy, and her throat was sore ; 
She could not speak, nor swallow, chew, nor sup, 
She scarcely breathed — the doctors gave her up ! 
Her weeping friends, in silence, breathed their sighs, 
And stood prepared to close her fading eyes ! 
'Tvvas at this awful crisis, mid the gloom, 
Her favourite monkey stole into the room ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 955 

With doctor's formal air approach'd the bed, 
Seized hold her wrist, then gravely shook his head ! 
The droll manoeuvre call'd a smile from death, 
And one convulsive laugh restored her breath ; 
Broke her disorder, let the fair escape, 
Who owed her cure alone to Dr. Ape." 

D'ye take? — or must I give your wits a jog? 

Stay — here comes Harry, with his epilogue. 

Enter Placide^ icho comes forward and speaks : 

P. " In ancient times, when plighted vows were broken" — 

Barnes You're too late, Hal — the epilogue is spoken. 

Placide Spoken ! By whom ? 

Barnes By me. 

Placide By you ! 

Barnes 'Tis certain, 

Placide..,, Why 'taint a minute since they dropt the curtain, 
And my address a good half hour employs. 

Barnes I've done the deed — didst thou not hear a noise ? 

If you attempt, you'll find yourself mistaken ; 

I made them laugh — that saved the author's bacon. 

Placide And who bade you display your monkey capers ? 

The sun requires no aid from farthing tapers — 
J saved the piece, sir. 

Barnes You! 

Placide My humble talents 

Secured the thing's success, and turn'd the balance ; 
Or, as Prince Rupert says — " alone I did it ! " 
It's true, I pledge my honour! 

Enter Hilson, speaking: 

HUson Heaven forbid it ! 

To put so mere a trifle "up the spout ! " 

Placide. — Hilson, be quiet ! I know what I'm about. 



256 POEMS. 

HUson — That tone, my boy, smacks sharply of the acid. 

Barnes. — Placide by name, but not exactly placid. 
You're somewhat wroth. 

Placide.. 4 I am — and shall be wrother — 

I'll speak my speech ! 

HUson. Not if you love the author. 

Since I have saved his opera, 'twere wrong 
To jeopardize it with a speech so long. 

Placide You saved the opera ! 

Barnes You saved it ! 

Both. You! 

HUson Yes, I myself alone — you know it's true ; 

I hit it on the head — and, lest it fail, 
Here's a short epilogue, to clinch the nail : 

Addressing the Audience. 

" When erst the muses, on Parnassus' top, 
In mazy dances——" 

Barnes Prithee, Tommy, stop ; 

Throw poetry and physic to the dogs, 

Nor bore our friends, here, with dull epilogues. 

HUson Agreed, old Barney ! — and, to end disputes, 

The readiest way to harmonize our flutes 

Is to admit — so be it understood, 

To please our friends we've all done what we could. 

If we have failed 

Placide Why, then 

Barnes What then, Placide? 

Placide They'll take a good intention for the deed. 

HUson I'll answer for't — I know these gen'rous folks, 

They're always laughing at us, or our jokes. 
But what of our young author ? — Jests nor wit 
Won't add a penny to his benefit. 

Placide..,.. His benefit is safe. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 257 

Barnes What then of Rokeby ? 

HUson Should that be damn'd it would a serious joke be. 

But see! — there's mercy in each judge's eye — 
The bard's acquitted ! — Rokeby shall not die ! 

Placide Egad ! their plaudits make old Drury shake ! 

HUson It's just the thing! 

Barnes, .„ I say — " there's no mistake /" 



A3T ZSFZSTZiS, 

ADDRESSED TO MY FRIEND G. P. MORRIS, ESQ. 

The muse and myself, the other day, 

Held a short colloquy together ; 
For she sometimes calls, when she comes that way, 
Though scarcely a moment she deigns to stay, 
And seldom has any thing to say, 
Save, " how d'ye do — what news to-day ! 

'Tis really charming weather " 

She found me alone, in my elbow chair — 

One arm has long been broken — 
In the attic, George — you well know where, 
For once, last summer, I saw you there, 
When you kindly offered to pay my fair, 
If I'd brush my coat, and with you repair 
To breathe a mouthful of country air, 

On the heights of green Hoboken. 

As I said before, her ladvship came, 

En dishabille, as usual. 
In costume resembling the slipshod da^e 

22* 



258 POEMS. 

Whose Black-book sketches are known to fame 
Her robe was blue, and her hose the same, 
Her sandals unlaced, and her gait was lame, 
As she entered the room, and pronounced my name 
In a manner and tone fiducial. 

fi Good day t'ye, Reuben — don't ask me to stay, 

For I must hasten home to my toilet ; 
As I go out with Norna a-shopping to-day, 
And Hinda goes with us — besides, I must pay 
A visit to Thirza — it's all in our way, 
And then to Ianthe I've something to say ; 
Besides, I must call upon Wetmore and Fat, 
And then there would be the Old Nick to pay, 
If I didn't look in upon Morris too — eigh ! 
But now, while I think of it — Reuben, do say, 
Who is that comical C** ? — I will lay 
He is building a fame that will never decay > 
And so is my favourite Proteus — nay, 
No jealousy, Reuben, but win your own bay, 
And never let envy soil it, 

" Hush! don't interrupt me — there's tender Estelle, 

Everard, Lara, and Alpha, and Inman, 
Isidora, or Harriet — with sweet Isabelle, 
And hundreds of others, are like to excel, 
If they treat me politely. — But, Reuben, do tell, 
If I don't appear charming in this dishabille ? 
" Say, why the deuce do you grin, man ?" 

" You look," I replied, " both ugly and old, 

In these rascally dishabille dresses ; 
Why, when you are visiting others, I'm told, 
The finest light gossamer vestures infold 



MISCELLANEOUS. 259 

That form and those limbs of such exquisite mould, 
With sandals that sparkle with spangles and gold, 
While a chaplet of roses and diamonds untold, 
Confine those wandering tresses. 

* When others petition, you make reply, 

In numbers of sweetest measure, 
But to me you prate, like a chattering pie, 
Of shopping, and visits, and a few small fry 
Of Mirror contributors — while here, poor I 

In silence must wait your leisure ! 

" Why not on me such favours bestow 

As your other votaries win ? 
Why prattle to me on subjects so low, 
In a tuneless, senseless din?" 

" Why then you must know," 

She said with a smile, 
11 That, when here below ; 

I adapt my style 
To the company I am in. 

" But, jesting apart, what is it you claim? 

I'll grant you the boon, I swear it : 
That is, if I'm able — come, give it a name." 
"Then fire me, at once," I replied, M with the flame 
That animates Halleck, and lights him to fame ; 
To a like .dazzling summit direct my aim, 
Procure for my numbers an equal acclaim ; 
Secure me a chaplet as bright — not the same, 

And teach me as humbly to wear it." 

She smiling replied, while her head she shook, 
" In vain should I bid you take it ; 



260 POEMS. 

For Apollo, when late, with a shepherd's crook, 
He toy'd with a maid, by a gurgling brook, 
Had-concealed his lyre in a private nook, 
Which Halleck observed, and slyly took, 
And none but Halleck can wake it." 



THS FIEEMAt?, 

Jin Occasional Address, spoken by Mrs. Duff, at the Bowery 
Theatre — Firemen'' s Benefit, January 24, 1827. 

Hoarse wintry blasts a solemn requiem sung 

To the departed day — upon whose bier 
The velvet pall of midnight had been flung, 

And nature mourn'd through one wide hemisphere. 
Silence and darkness held their cheerless sway, 

Save in the haunts of riotous excess ; 
And half the world in dreamy slumbers lay, 

Lost in the maze of sweet forgetfulness. 

When lo ! upon the startled ear 
There broke a sound, so dread and drear, 
As, like a sudden peal of thunder, 
Burst the bands of sleep asunder, 
And filled a thousand throbbing hearts with fear. 
Hark ! the faithful watchman's cry 
Speaks a conflagration nigh ! 
See ! yon glow upon the sky 

Confirms the fearful tale ! 
The deep-mouth'd bells, with rapid tone, 
Combine to make the tidings known ; 
Affrighted silence now has ilown, 
And sounds of terror freight the chilly gale ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 261 

At the first note of this discordant din, 

The gallant FIREMAN from his slumber starts, 
Reckless of toil or danger, if he win 
The tributary meed of grateful hearts. 
From pavement rough, or frozen ground, 
His engine's rattling wheels resound, 

And soon, before his eyes, 
The lurid flames, with horrid glare, 

Mingled with murky vapour, rise 
In wreathy folds, upon the air, 
And veil the frowning skies ! 

Sudden, a shriek assails his heart ! 

A female shriek ! so piercing wild 
As makes his very life-blood start — 

" My child !— Almighty God !— My child >" 

He hears — and 'gainst the tottering wall 

The ponderous ladder rears, 
While blazing fragments round him fall, 

And crackling sounds assail his ears ! 
His sinewy arm, with one rude crash, 
Hurls to the earth the opposing sash, 

And, heedless of the startling din, 
Tho' smoky volumes round him roll, 
The mother's shriek has pierced his soul ! 

See! — See ! — He plunges in ! 

The admiring crowd, with hopes and fears, 

In breathless expectation stand ! 
When lo ! the daring youth appears, 
Hailed by a burst of warm, extatic cheers, 

Bearing the child, triumphant, in his hand ! 



262 POEMS. 

TO CAPT. J. B. JGL1TO LADY, 

ON THE DEATH OF THEIR THIRD AND LAST REMAINING CHILD. 

" Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice ! 

Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain /" 

Young. 

Weep on, bereaved ones — there's no sin in tears, 
When nature's tenderest ties by death are broken, 

For He who pities while he chastens, hears 
The sigh of sorrow, as submission's token ; 

And He remembers, too, when Lazarus slept, 

His own divine compassion — U Jesus wept !" 

Weep on — but mourn not with a hopeless sorrow, 
Raise your moist eyes to scenes beyond the grave, 

And own that He, from whom each bliss we borrow, 
Takes back in mercy, what his mercy gave : 

He takes them home — 'tis love's, not fate's, decree, 

That where our treasures are, our hearts may be. 

Weep on, bereaved ones — 'twas for this your God 
Severed the ties that kept your hearts below, 

Thwart not his purpose, but revere the rod, 
And meekly kiss the hand that gave the blow : 

The keenest pangs are all in mercy given — 

Humility 's the only path to heaven. 

Weep on — but waste not one delicious tear 
On the cold suiface of their earthy bed ; 

Your babe3are risen — nought but dust is here, 
Why seek the living, then, among the dead? 

Their souls have risen, from the mouldering tomb, 

To scenes of bliss, where joys eternal bloom. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 263 

Weep on — but, like a sunbeam in a shower, 

Let this bright truth — a ray of light from heaven, 

Shine through the gloom of sorrow's darkest hour, 
The gmile of peace — the hope of sins forgiven : 

The sweet assurance, that the ties of love, 

Can ne'er be severed in the realms above. 



TO ESARIT Ai^N* 

Dear Mary Ann, the sparkling gems, 

Which deck the brow of even, 
Are rayless, to the diadems 
And jewels on the garment hems 
Of sainted maids in heaven. 

The fleecy snow, so pure and white, 

By winds of winter driven, 
Is darker than the shades of night, 
To those celestial robes of light 

Which clothe the nymphs of heaven. 

No banquet e'er by mortal spread, 

No feast by monarch given, 
Can match the living wine and bread, 
With which the virgin train are fed, 

Who crowd the courts of heaven. 

The crown, the robe, the feast be thine ; 

To all who ask, they're given ; 
The jewels, gems, the bread and wine, 
Will fill thee with that flame divine, 

W T hich lights the maids of heaven. 



264 POEMS. 

Thine be the pearl of nameless worth, 

By Christ alone 'tis given — 
And though we never meet on earth, 
If we obtain the second birth, 
ThouHt kiss the bard in heaven. 



THE BOOK OF THIS HEART. 

WRITTEN IN A TOUNG LADY'S ALBUM. 

Thy mind is an album, unsullied and bright, 
Just opened — for angels and spirits to write 
Each thought and affection, intent and desire, 
That wisdom may sanction — that love may inspire. 

The book is immortal — guard it with care, 
Lest demons should sully its pages so fair ; 
Repulse such intruders, nor shrink from the strife, 
And Jesus will smile on the " Book of thy life. 11 



EPITAPH. 

that the icy touch of death should blight, 
Just in the bloom of youth, a form so bright ; 
When smiling hope illumed a cultured mind, 
Rich in endowments of the fairest kind ! 
By all respected, by the good approved, 
By kindred hearts, how tenderly beloved ! 
Yet, cease to mourn — for virtue cannot die— 
The youth still lives in realms beyond thftsky. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 265 



APOLOGUE, 



My little girl, the other day, 

(Three years of age a month ago,) 
Wounded her finger while at play, 

And saw the crimson fluid flow. 
With pleading optics, raining tears, 

She sought my aid, in terror wild ; 
I smiling said — " dismiss your fears, 

And all shall soon he well, my child." 
Her little bosom ceased to swell, 

While she replied with calmer brow, 
4i I know that you can make it well, 

" But how, papa? — I don't see how." 

Our children oft instruct us thus ; 

For succour, or for recompense, 
They look with confidence to us, 

As we should look to Providence. 
For each infantile doubt and fear, 

And every little childish grief, 
Is uttered to a parent's ear, 

With full assurance of relief. 
A grateful sense of favours past, 

Incites them to petition now, 
With faith in succour to the last, 

Although they can't imagine how. 

And shall I doubtingly repine, 

When clouds of dark affliction lower ? 
A tenderer Father still is mine, 
- Of greater mercy, love, and power : 
He clothes the lily, feeds the dove, 

The meanest insect feels his care ; 
23 



266 POEMS. 

And shall not man confess bis love, 
Man, his own offspring, and his heir? 

Yes, though he slay, I'll trust him still, 
And still with resignation bow ; 

He may relieve, he can, he will — 

Although I cannot yet see how. 



FOR VIOLA'S ALBUM. 

Yes, I would add one humble leaf, 
To the bright chaplet thou art twining, 

But ah ! its verdure will be brief, 

For time is such an errant thief, 

He blights the sweetest buds with grief, 
And leaves the fairest flower declining. 

But there 's a wreath, that ne'er can fade, 
Already for thy temples twined, 

Such as in heaven the angels braid, 

To deck the brows of every maid, 

Who, like Viola, here displayed 
The beauties of a cultured mind. 

That wreath shall deck Viola's brow, 

In realms unknown to time or grief, 
And each young plant she cultures now, 
Each infant mind her toils endow, 
Will breathe to heaven a fragrant vow, 
Brightning the tints of every leaf. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 267 

MASONIC ODE. 

Intended for the opening of the grand Gothic Saloon, in the 
new Masonic Hall. 

When the great Architect oi heaven and earth, 
Spoke this magnific system into birth, 

And bade its numerous orbs in order roll, 
To perfect wide creation's wondrous plan, $ 
He breathed his own pure spirit into man, 

And man became a living soul ; 
Lord of the fair elysian fields he trod, 
An image and a likeness of his God ; 
Designed, by wisdom infinite, to be 
A living temple of the Deity ; 
An earthly palace, where w T ould deign to dwell 
A guest divine, of name ineffable ! 

But, love of self, a wily serpent, stole 
Into the sacred precincts of the soul, 

And tempted man to taste and eat 
The specious, fair, forbidden fruit of pride, 
Which heavenly love in mercy had denied ; 

By which offence, 
He lost the Eden of his innocence, 

And fled, an exile, from the blissful seat. 
The hallowed mental temple thus became 

A mass of shapeless ruins, where 
Eternal Truth no more inscribed His name, 

A den of thieves, and not a house of prayer. 

'Twas to rebuild this miniature of heaven, 

This temple of Jehovah in the mind, 
That the eternal three-fold Word was given, 

And our symbolic mystic art design'd. 



265 POEMS. 

For this, confiding Faith, and smiling Hope, 
With sweet celestial Charity, appear'd ; 

Wisdom, and Strength, and Beauty, join'd the group, 
And each a column of the fabric rear'd ; 
Surmounted by the royal- arch above, 
Join'd by the key-stone of celestial love. 
The work completed, on this heavenly plan, 
His tabernacle is again with man. 

As an auxiliar in this glorious cause, 

Our fellow -craft have reared this got he pile, 
Sacred to pure Benevolence, whose laws 
Of mutual kindness light a blissful smile 
In sorrow's dewy eye. 
This splendid dome 
Shall never echo an unheeded sigh, 
For Charity, descending from the sky, 
Claims the proud fabric as her future home, 
Her earthly temple, where her blazing shrine 
Glows with a light that never shall decline, 
Till thousands yet unborn, admiring see 
And own the peerless worth of Masonry. 



EPITAPH. 

He is not here, but risen — wherefore shed 
Affliction's tear, or seek among the dead 
For one that lives, and claims immortal youth, 
With all the bliss that flows from love and truth? 
Grieve not for dust — nor let one sigh alloy 
A new-made angel's ecstasy of joy. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 

TO A ITOTJNG LADY, 

Could any charm have broke the spell, 

That long has chained my humble lyre, 
Thy smile had waked the silent shell, 
And taught its sweetest notes to swell 
With pure poetic fire. 

But, oh ! its cords are sleeping still, 

And e'en thy charms must plead in vain ; 
This heart has lost its wonted thrill, 
Intruding cares its fervours chill, 
And check its votive strain. 



TO 2LIZA. 

And wilt thou think of him who traced 

This tributary lay, 
Or will his image be effaced, 
As foot-prints in the dew are chased 

By the next solar ray? 
Can memory's light become so dim, 
That thou wilt not remember him ? 

I will not libel thus a heart, 

Where every grace resides 1 , 
Where modest nature, void of art, 
Directed still by virtue's chart, 
In peerless state presides : 
She shall thy silent prompter be, 
Sometimes, dear girl, to think of me. 
23* 



270 POEMS. 

TO BELUSTDA. 

those eyes ! but that right eye in particular ! 

Billy Lackaday, 

Those auburn traces sweetly play, 

Around that pearly neck so fair, 
And sweetly does that brow display 

The clustering ringlets slumbering there. 
Not sea-born Venus, famed of old, 
With streaming locks, like threads of gold, 

Sparkling with ocean's liquid brightness, 
Could boast of graces so divine, 
As those bewitching locks of thine, 

Which shade thy forehead's sunny whiteness. 

The softest shade of Tyrian dye, 

Could never with that cheek compare ; 
Nor will the bright carnation vie 

In colour, with thy Up, my fair. 
What though Cashmere's delightful vale, 
With balmy odour freights the gale 

At every fragrant feast of roses, 
Its charms are here — why farther seek ? 
Its tints are blooming on thy cheek, 

Its fragrance on thy lip reposes. 

That lip, so like the bow of love, 

In graceful curvature and hue, 
And there 's a dimple just above, 

A quiver for his arrows, too, 
That sacred shrine of nameless charms, 
That faultless shape, those graceful arms, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 271 

That peerless elegance of motion ; 
With richer beauties of the mind, 
All — all, in one dear form combined, 

May well inspire this heart's devotion. 

But oh, that et/e, that beaming eye, 

Mild as the softest star of even, 
Clear as the azure of the sky, 

Bright as the vesper lamp of heaven ! 
Whence was that orb of beauty stole, 
Whose matchless lustre, in my soul 

Has lit a flame no power can smother? 
li Which?" asked the fair—" I'm clear of theft— 
These sixteen years I've own'd the left, 

And pa paid Scudderforthe other.'' 



DTJSTT. 

Air — " When poor, the spirits flag." 

She — When grief the heart benumbs, 

How the pulses languish ! 
He. — Hope, like a cherub, comes, 

Then we lose the anguish. 
She. — Here, late, were clouds of gloom, 

All the scene surrounding ; 
He. — Now all is dressed in bloom, 

Hearts are gaily bounding. 
Both — Still, then, in pleasure's bower, 

Let us rove delighted ; 
Joy is a transient flower, 

Taste it ere 'tis blighted. 



272 POEMS. 

She. — Should dark despair return 

On the coming morrow, 
He. — Love's torch will brighter burn 

'Mid the gloom of sorrow. 
She. — Love may himself decamp, 

In the hour of sadness ; 
He. — Then feed the urchin's lamp 

With the oil of gladness. 
Both. — Thus, here, in pleasure's bower, 

Let us rove delighted ; 
Joy is a transient flower, 

Taste it, ere 'tis blighted. 



COME, LET US TRIP IT LIGHTLY. 

Come, let us trip it lightly, love, 

Where Flora's sweets are blending ; 
The moon is beaming brightly, love, 

With starry lamps attending. 
The grove and hill, the mead and rill, 

Have charms that must delight thee, 
Then let us haste their sweets to taste, 

While zephyr's sighs invite thee. 
An hour like this imparts a bliss 

To souls of kindred feeling, 
A pure delight, serenely bright, 

Along the pulses stealing. 

The evening star is peeping, love, 

From yonder paler cluster, 
The glassy lake is sleeping, love, 

Enriched with borrowed lustre. 



MISCELLANEOUS. *73 

The babbling brook, with brighter look, 

Meanders through the dingle ; 
And chirping notes from insect throats, 

In tuneless measures mingle. 
An hour like this, which wakes to bliss, 

The hearts of meaner creatures, 
Must surely light a smile as bright 

On love's expressive features. 



THE SILENT CONFESSION. 

To a lady, who asked the author if he could interpret a blush that 
he had noted. 

O yes, Hwa3 a fervour of feeling, 

That gush'd like a stream from the heart, 
And flew thro' the pulses, revealing 

What language could never impart. 
It gave to that frame an emotion, 

Which sweetly the feeling confessed ; 
A zephyr might breathe on the ocean, 

And wake such a swell on its breast. 

The glow of thy visage express 'd it, 

'Twas borne to my heart in a sigh ; 
An eloquent silence confess'd it, 

It spoke in the glance of thine eye. 
In short, 'twas the soul of my treasure, 

Aroused in alarm from its sleep, 
That flew to those windows of azure, 

And lifted their curtains to peep. 



274 POEMS. 

O SAY, CAN THIS BE LOVE, 

Mr — Mi pizzica, mi stimola. 

Why does my heart so strangely start, 

Each pulse so wildly play ? 
Why cannot willing lips impart 

What feeling bids them say ? 
Cease, busy heart ! — Can this be love ? 

Why don't the trembler rest? 
Why does it throb as if a dove 

Were caged within my breast. 
'Tis not the throb of anguish — 

It cannot fatal prove — 
And yet I sigh and languish ! 

O say, can this be love ? 

Cease, busy heart! — Why throbs it so,. 

With such an anxious thrill ? 
It seems to have a fever's glow, 

And yet I am not ill ! 
Warm on my cheek I feel the flame, 

Its light illumes my eye ; 
Still, if my lips attempt the name, 

'Tis whispered in a sigh. 
'Tig not the sigh of anguish — 

So that can nothing prove, 
And yet I daily languish — 

say, can this be love ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. 275 

CATHLBBN O'MOORE. 

An Irish air. 

She hung on my bosom, and vowed to be true, 
As I kiss'd off a tear-drop, and murmured adieu ; 

Then, slow and sad-hearted, 

From Cathleen I parted, 

From Cathleen O'Moore. 

I tore myself from her, and left her in tears, 

With a pang at my heart, yet remembered for years, 

Though hope was repeating 

A promise of meeting 

With Cathleen O'Moore. 

'Twas eve, and the moon brightly smiled on the spot, 
As I lingered, to gaze yet again on the cot 

That held the dear treasure 

I loved without measure, 

My Cathleen O'Moore. 

And hope fondly whispered, with flattering tone, 
That I shortly might call the dear treasure my own ; 

But hope has deceived me, 

For fate has bereaved me. 

Of Cathleen O'Moore. 

A richer swain woo'd, and she smiled on his plea, 
And she gave him the hand she had plighted to me, 

And left me to languish, 

With heart-rending anguish, 

For Cathleen O'Moore. 



276 POEMS. 

TO IANTHE, 

Ianthe, could I touch the lyre, 

With magic art like thine, 
I'd wake the spirit-breathing wire 
To thoughts oflight and tones of fire, 
Like those which, breathed by thee, inspire 

This raptured heart of mine. 
And I would still the lay prolong, 

And oft the strain repeat, 
To tell how much I love thy song, 

Its numbers are so sweet. 

I've marked thee — ere a dozen springs 

Had bloomed upon thy cheek, 
When, buoyant on her glittering wings, 
Thy infant fancy warbled things 
Such delicate imaginings, 

As poesy can speak. 
'Twas genius, uncontrolled by art, 

And reckless of defeat, 
I heard the lay, it touched my heart, 

'Twas wild and simply sweet. 

I marked the next, with cultured mind, 

In all the charms of youth, 
And knew thy lovely form enshrined 
A heart which every grace combined, 
By native taste and art refined, 

The pure abode of truth. 
Then, when I listened to thy lay, 

Each pulse with rapture beat, 
It seemed to bear the soul away, 

r I was exquisitely sweet. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 277 

Another heard — the one alone 

Whose worth inspired the strain ; 
Whose manly heart is honour's throne, 
Who breathed a sigh for every tone, 
And made his modest wishes known, 

Nor did he plead in vain. 
And when a wife — I heard thee still 

The matchless strain repeat ; 
How must his heart with transport thrill ! — 

'Twas ravishingly sweet. 

And is there yet a tenderer tie 

To twine Ianthe's heart ? 
Can warmer feelings light her eye, 
And bid her pulses quicker fly ? 
Can any other's smile or sigh 

Such ecstasies impart ? 
There can — an infant's smiles inspire 

A strain with joy replete ; 
A mother's love attunes the lyre — 

'Tis now divinely sweet ! 



COLUMBIA, THE PRIDE OF THE WORLD. 

there is a region, a realm in the weat, 

To tyranny's shackles unknown, 
A country with union and liberty blest, 

That fairest of lands is our own. 
Where commerce has opened her richest of marts, 

Where freedom's bright flag is unfurled, 
The garden of science, the seat of the arts, 

Columbia, the pride of the world. 
24 



278 POEMS. 

The rays of her glory have lighted the earth, 

While tyranny's minions, dismayed, 
Acknowledged her prowess, admitted her worth, 

And shrunk at the flash of her blade. 
For conquest or plunder she never contends, 

For freedom, her flag is unfurled ; 
And foemen in battle, in peace are thy friends, 

Columbia, the pride of the world. 

Her clime is a refuge for all the oppress'd, 

Whom tyranny urges to roam ; 
And every exile we greet as a guest, 

Soon feels like a brother at home. 
Then hail to our country, the land of our birth, 

Where freedom's bright flag is unfurled ; 
The rays of whose glory have lighted the earth, 

Columbia, the pride of the world. 



TO A. 



When that soft beaming eye reviews 
This grateful tributax»f the Muse, 
Those coral lips must not refuse 

One little word to frame. 
And be the little word they choose, 

The Poet's name. 

breathe but that, in one soft sigh, 
Whene'er these couplets meet thine eye, 
And Zephyr, as he flutters by, 

Shall bear the sigh to me, 
And whisper in thine e&r, that I 

Remember thee. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 279 

PRINTERS' ODE. 

For the Fourth of July, 1827. 

Sons of Faust, to whom belong 
Hearts and arms for freedom strong, 
Festive rites, and patriot song, 

Join in revelry. 
Raise the tributary lay, 
'Tis Columbia's natal day, 
Let each heart be light and gay, 

Heirs of liberty ! 

Banish hence each petty feud, 
Let no selfish care intrude. 
>Tis the hour for gratitude, 

Social mirth and glee ; 
While the sparkling rubies swim, 
Round each mantling goblet's brim, 
Quaff them ere their light be dim, 

Drink to liberty. 

Think what cause for joy is ours, 
In this land of fruits and flowers, 
Splendid towns, and shady bowers, 

Blest with liberty; 
Freed from sceptre, crown, and throne, 
Independence is our own, 
Never, but to Heaven alone, 

Will we bend the knee. 

Peace and plenty, through the land, 
Scatter joys on every hand, 
Bidding grateful hearts expand, 

On our jubilee ; 



tSQ POEMS. 

Hark ! the cannon's martial roar, 
Loud proclaims from shore to shore, 
That Columbia's sons adore 

Heaven-born liberty f 

We who boast the matchless art 
Which can light and truth impart, 
Let us all, with hand and heart, 

Keep the jubilee ; 
'Tis our Art, and that alone, 
;• Makes the worth of freedom known, 
W T hile admiring millions own, 

That has made them free. 

What inspired our sires to brave 
Ocean's rough tempestuous wave, 
Seeking freedom, or a grave, 

Death, or liberty ? 
'Twas the Press, a beacon-light, 
Beaming on their mental sight, 
Led them through that gloomy night, 

O'er the stormy sea. 

This sustained them in the field, 
This compelled the foe to yield, 
This is freedom's sword and shield, 

This proclaims us free. 
Let us, then, our joy express, 
For the blessings we possess, 
While a free unshackled Press 

Guards our liberty. 




MISCELLANEOUS. 281 

THE FEMALE HTVIKTCIBI.ES. 

Written for Miss Rock, 

MUSIC BY THE LATE CHARLES GILFERT, ESQ. 

When Love's rcveiUee summons matron and maid, 
Julia- Ann is the first to appear on parade; 
Ever ready at roll-call, with weapon in^hind, 
To advance, icheel, and halt, at'thqe Word oj common 
With a passing salute, as we march in review, 
To the rub-a-dub-dub and the rat-tat-too ! 

Spoken, — Attention, company ! — Right, dress ! — SuppoVt 
arms ! — By platoons, right wheel ! — Forward, guide left, 
march ! 

With a passing salute as we marchin revieic, 
To the rub-a-dub-dub and the rat-tat-too ! 

For conquest prepared, yet determined to yield, 
Fair Therese and Sophia are the next in the field; 
Where they gaily manoeuvre their bright polished charms, 
Waiting Hymen's command for presenting their atms. 
With a. passing salute as we march in review. 
To the rub-a-dub-dub and the rat-tat-too ! 

Spoken. — Halt! — Ready! — Aim! — As you were! — By 
the right flank, file left — march ! 

With a passing salute as we march in review, 
To the rub-a-dub-dub and the rat-tat-too ! 

Well armed and equipped for a trial of skill, 
Fair Eliza and Jane next appear at the drill ; 
Though reckless of danger, they'll face any man , 
Yet their fire often proves but a. flash in the pan, 

24* 



2S2 POEMS. 

With a passing salute as we march in review. 
To the rub-a-dub~dub and the rat-tat-too ! 

Spoken. — On right, file into line ! — Rear rank, open 
order, march ! — Present arms ! — Carry arms ! — Close order I 
Right face, march ! — Recover arms ! 

With a passing salute as we march in review, 
the rub-a-dub-dub and the rat-tat-too I 




'p^ 



£L SONNET ON SONNETS. 

When memory takes a retrospective gaze 
Upon the bright effusions of my brain, 
She cannot find — I note the fact with pain — 

Mid all that heterogeneous mass of lays, 
A single Sonnet ! This might blight a fame 

Greater — if greater can be — than the one 

Which now rewards the muses' favourite son — 
I mean myself — and gilds his deathless name. 

This must not be, and so I'll write one now. 
Let's see ; it must comprise just fourteen lines, 
Dull, flat, and heavy ; this at least combines 

The requisites alluded to, I trow ; 

Two more complete it; now the bard entwines 

The neplus ultra garland round his laurelled brow! 



THE END. 



INDEX 



TO THE 

CONTENTS OF THIS VOLUME. 



Arise, my love 10 

Awake, my dear Jane 31 

Awake again thy witching lyre 56 

A smile from thee 37 

And did I upbraid you, my love 57 

And may I hope, thou kind one? 68 

And did I say my lyre should sleep 183 

And wilt thou think of him 269 

Ah, why, sweet minstrel 69 

Adelaide, Felicity — " Before thy infant lips" 82 

Address — Opening of the Park Theatre 178 

Address — Opening of La Fayette Circus 224 

Address — Opening of the Bowery 240 

Address — Firemen's Benefit 260 

Address— Hopkins Robertson 247 

Apologue— "My little girl," - 265 

Believe me, if there's aught on earth 11 

Believe not the slanders 43 

Bucket—" How dear to this heart," 12 

Balm of the heart - 16 

Bashful lover 22 

Beside a streamlet 33 

Bankruptcy of the heart , 73 

Before thy infant lips could frame 82 

Beauty, sweet mysterious power 99 

Bugle — " Deep murmuring down the lonely dell," .... 118 

Bright is the Word 191 

Book of the heart 264 

Come to my cot 6 

Cottage Lass 15 

Christmas Gambols. 76 



284 INDEX. 

Calumny— "Ah, what avails, " 94 

Confiding woman 101 

Canal, the Grand, 137 217 

Consecration 215 

Cathleen O'Moore 275 

Come, let us trip it lightly, love 272 

Columbia, the pride of the world 277 

Dancing gaily on the green 18 

Deaf and dumb— " The ills that call,"' 93 

Deep murmuring down the lonely dell 118 

Dark was the hour 120 

Doctor Stramonum 171 

Death of an infant 203 

Dirge — Adams and JefTerson 209 21 1 

Evening — " 'Tis pleasant when the world is still,".. .. 23 

Embarked on the ocean of life 67 

Edwin Deslile— " The battle was ended," 90 

Epitaphs 185, 187, 195, 204, 264 268 

Epilogue to Narrah-Mattah 2oO 

Epilogue, to Rokeby 254 

Epistle to Geo. P. Morris, Esq 184, 297 

Flowers of Life 88 

Friendship — " What power can prop," 92 

Fair vocalist 91 

Female ornaments — " All hues," 96 

Fashions — " To tyrant fashion," 103 

Freedom's star 110 

Freedom's Constellation 112 

Freedom's Jubilee 115 

Fashions — " How fashions change," 155 

Friseur, the expert 167 

Florian's grave 215 

Fireman, the — an Address 260 

Female Invincibles 281 

Grave of hapless Mary 19 

Good Morning 28 

Giving and receiving • • • 55 

Gentle peace, on ruffled pinion 109 

Glory gilds the western skies 112 

God is in his holy temple J 94 

Oamut, the 67 

How dear to this heart 12 

Here, in scenes of sweet seclusion 13 



INDEX. 2*8 

Harlem Mary 21 

Harvest home — " When mellow autumn," 30 

Hay-makers — " It is sweet, love, to stray" 34 

Harriet's favourite poems 64 

Hail ! the season of joy and festivity 76 

Hibernia's tears for ever flow 93 

How happy is the minstrel's lot 100 

Hail, La Fayette ! 122 

Hark ! the martial drum 122 

Hark ! the clamorous bugle 135 

How shall we sinners come before him .. 202 

Happiness — an extract from Quarter-day 213 

Hunters of Kentucky 221 

Halleck, the purloiner of Apollo's lyre 257 

I've a peaceful little cot 3 

Is there .a light whose effulgence 16 

I love to hear the flute's sweet notes 24 

I love only thee 43 

I would a garland twine, my love 49 

I sigh not for glory 53 

I had a lyre, when hope was young 59 

I heard a sweet strain in the grove 63 

I own I chid the pensive strain 68 

I asked the muse to breathe a name 85 

Imprisoned Debtor 87 

Independence. ..126, 128, 131, 134, 136, 138, 140, 142, 279 

Incarnation , 186 

Ianthe, could I touch the lyre 276 

Invincibles, Female . . . « 281 

Kiss — " Does Eliza remember?" 47 

Kaleidescope — " Just like hope" 86 

Let those whose hearts 19 

Loves she like me ? 32 

Love and jealousy 41 

Love's eyes are so enchanting 44 

Love and valour 45 

Love's Ledger—" I own myself" 46 

Land's End— " The gale was propitious" 78 

Let politicians rail and fight 83 

La Fayette's welcome 119,121, 122 

Landlord, the hard-hearted .*. . 168 

Milkmaid—" When blushing Aurora" g 

Morn. of May — " Arise, my love" 10 



286 INDEX. 

My father's farm 11 

Mary's grave—" Let those whose hearts"'. 19 

Morning— " Aurora paints the orient skies 29 

Miniature — " That tranquil brow" 39 

Music, the language of love • 42 

Meeting — " I saw them meet" 60 

Minstrel—" How happy is the minstrel's lot" 100 

Masonic Odes 120, 267 

Montgomery's poems — to a young lady 148 

Morning — an extract from Beasts at Law 180 

Miriam's song 200 

Monody, on the death of a friend 205 

Do ' do do Jefferson and Adams... 209, 211 

Maids of heaven 263 

My little girl, the other day 265 

Nay, my all of joy that's left 50 

Nosegay — " Here the rose and lily" 51 

Nature and the passions 58 

Nuptial song — ' * O blest is the festival" 74 

Now amity, hope, and pleasure 81 

Nay, ask me not for wit or rhyme 84 

Now the torch of rapture burns 101 

New-York 133 

New-Jerusalem 188 

Nativity 192 

Newspapers 229 

O green was the poplar 20 

O I shall ne'er forget the spot 48 

O stay, sweet vision ! 61 

O blest is the festival hallowed by duty 74 

O trust not faithless hope too far ......... , , , 95 

O who, reclined in dastard ease , 116 

Open the door • 201 

Orphan maid 253 

O say, can this be love , . . « 274 

O yes, 'twas a fervor of feeling 273 

Pride of the valley , 17 

Poplar — " O green was the poplar" ,..,....,,. 20 

Peaceful home — " The heart sustained" 40 

Progress of improvement . . « 124 

Philosophy and religion , , , « 1 82 

Quarter-day < 176 

Repulse—* 4 When first I sought" 54 



INDEX. 287 

Returning home-—" No longer shall fortune" 71 

Rights of woman 104 

Regeneration „ . . -. 189 

Redemption . » 190 

Reason and passion * > k -. 242 

Sweet seclusion 13 

Smile of affection. . .*.* 16 

Sweet the hour, when freed from labour 18 

Sounds of war were swelling wild 45 

Sigh — " Softly stealing from her breast" 52 

Smile of love 62 

See him surrounded 122 

Seasons, the — To Julia 150 

Sin no more 181 

Seek ye the Lord 193 

Solar system 231 

Suppliant, or the orphan maid 253 

She hung on my bosom 275 

Silent confession 273 

Sonnet on Sonnets 282 

The moonbeam on the Hudson 5 

The morn awakes, in blushes dressed 9 

'Twas noon, and the reapers 14 

The cottage lass, the courtly dame 15 

The pride of the valley is lovely young" Ellen 17 

They sing of blue-eyed Mary 21 

' Tis pleasant when the world is still 23 

The groves their vernal sweets have lost 25 

Tomb of Henry 26 

The blushing precursor of Phoebus 28 

The heart sustained by hope alone 40 

The budding hopes 40 

The world is no longer the desert 65 

Though thousand gems 70 

The gale was propitious 78 

Tear of Gratitude — " There is a gem" 79 

Thy ruby lips must kiss the brim 97 

The drum had ceased, the bugle slept 102 

'Twas war — arid the plough in the furrow 1 14 

The banner of liberty, proudly unfurled 119 

The God of battle be thy shield 123 

Tit for tat— thecoquet punished 1 6C 

To the Rev. J. Hargrove 19 

Time's auction 23 



288 INDEX. 

The muse and myself the other day 257 

To Capt. J. B. and Lady 162 

Those auburn tresses 270 

To my wife « 50 

Village clock — The morn awakes 9 

Variety— 4 ' The noblest talent" 27 

When blushing Aurora 8 

Water-melon — " 'Twas noon" 14 

When the mild star of evening 16 

When bashful Lubin sought my hand 22 

Where Hudson's murmuring billows 26 

Wreath of love 38 

When infant Cupid ventured first 41 

When first I sought my Lydia's love 54 

Widowed ivy — " I marked of late'' 75 

W 7 hen eyes are bright with pleasure 80 

What nymph, asked Apollo 91 

William's promotion 102 

While each freeman's son 104 

Waterman — " Let philosophers boast" 106 

When the lily of Gallia 121 

Whiskers— a tale , 163 

Weeping Mary — bathed in sorrow 184 

Widow, the 196 

World of mind 198,199 

Washington's birth 227 

What, if the awful mandate 228 

When grief the heart benumbs 271 

Why does my heart 274 

Yes, or no — " The groves their vernal sweets" 25 

Yes, love can discourse 42 

Yes, yes, I go — he whispered soft Ill 

Yale college 245 

Yes, I would add one humble leaf 266 

Zodiac— To Julia 145 



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